Three little old people are sitting on a bench and talking. – Me, said the first, when I fart, it makes a lot of noise, but there is no smell. – With me, answered the second, it is the

George, ever the thinker, added, “You know, there’s something beautiful about growing old together. We’ve seen each other change, yet some things never do. Like our sense of humor, for instance.”

Their conversation soon shifted from humorous bodily functions to fond memories of their youth—dancing at local fairs, sneaking into movies, and the adventures they embarked on when the world was still a vast and wondrous place.

“Do you remember the time we went on that spontaneous road trip to the coast?” Harold asked, eyes twinkling with nostalgia.