Moving to a place full of old people is taking some adjustment. Restaurants are packed at five, there is no noise after eight, cars are always driven at least 10km under the limit, there are pharmacies everywhere and you find yourself talking about the weather all the time even though it’s mild and unchanging week after week.
On the flip side, thrift stores are packed to the tits with treasure. Yesterday’s browse uncovered a perfect Scottish hand-knit cardigan and a wool polka band jacket.
My significant other fears that I will start smelling like mothballs. Only when it rains, I assure him, only when is rains.