I keep thinking about my coworker, Ethel – she's like, 65, still shelving books part-time at the library, and she’s always complaining about her knees, her back, whatever. And I just… I can’t bring myself to say anything about my own aches. Like, my fingers are stiff every morning, and my hip just *twangs* sometimes when I stand up too fast. I figure it’s just… what happens, innit? What's the point of even bringing it up? Another bill I can't really afford, another thing to worry about when the rent's already due next week. Sometimes I just wanna roll my eyes, like, *welcome to the club, sweetheart*, but then I feel like a right arsehole for even thinking it.