I guess it's lucky just last week I found my way around an electric razor finally.
A man who came in today had a Yorkshire terrier called Prometheus and I told him it was a funny name for a little dog but he said it wasn't the hero he was named after but the tree. There was this bristlecone pine what some idiot cut down to see how old it was and it turns out it was about five thousand years old. Which I didn't hardly know things could be five thousand years old until I came here but in any case this fellow thought it was sad and named his dog after it. Which can't mean much when the thing won't live more than twenty years no matter how lucky it is but I suppose it's what you'd call a gesture.
Anyway in a country with five thousand year-old trees I can't feel all that creaky now can I.