NJDMV, Quaker Bridge Road, 1:21 PM EDST

I was number 81, waiting to be called to get my new license. Which is much worse than it sounds. They were at 63 already, and it wasn't that crowded. An old lady with number 84 came by with a walker. "Young man" (not me) she says, "Can I sit next to the wall? I'm 81, it's so much easier for me to get up." She sat down and took a breath. Then she got going, ranging around with her head, making eye contact everywhere. "... So the guy who drove me here, lives across the street, sweetheart he is, he shows up in his wife's new caddy last week to take me to the store and I'm like, are you sure this is OK?" And he's like, "yeah, she said you can ride in it, she's just gonna check out the back seat when we're done." Uproarious cackling. More jokes about old people having sex. About funny cell phone music playing during funerals. I can't even recall.

I go up to get my license. She's called soon. She breaks out her original birth certificate, 81 years old, falling apart. A wedding certificate that looks like it was handwritten by the minister. "We don't accept documents from religious institutions, ma'am. Only from municipal authorities."

It was sort of out of Kafka. There was no way she was gonna get a license today, didn't have enough ID certification. But, at the end of the day, she didn't really care, much as she complained. She just wanted somebody to talk to, and something to rail about.