You clench your age like a rose between your teeth.
You wear those wrinkles and those scars like badges.
The geezer is 88 years old, going lame in the hip and blind in the eye but still by God full of life and language and outrages. He’s spending his dotage exploring, chronicling, braving and where possible celebrating the process of growing old and sniffing out stuff with more meaning than the long march to the grave.
At this event he will read from his own poetry and from that of others, Whitman, Yeats, Olds, etc. Bring something yourself. Prepare for conversation and laughter.