Credit Union

One waits at the Credit Union. An older man takes your name, then asks again, then asks how do you spell it. Then he asks what your business is today, then asks again, then looks at you skeptically. He writes this down. Then you wait.
I sit down next to a man, older, who is probably a cop. It's a city credit union, so most of us here are cops or teachers. Next to him is another cop--confirmed when he makes a quick call to someone to talk about the information he sent on to Homicide about that guy, and he's waiting to hear back.
We sit, waiting.
From somewhere a boy, nine or ten, is now sitting on the far side, beside the telephoning policeman, whom he asks a long series of interesting questions about sports, money, his family, his profession.

"How old are you?"
"Forty-nine."

"How old were you when you were younger?"

The three of us, older, laugh gently, remembering and trying to remember.