The boomer boom is over, he thought. As we boomers shuffle towards Death, trying to make the most of it, if our generational identity is fading, what’s left? Half-baked biege Buddhism? Going gently? Sod that, he thought. Then he thought, No, actually, that sounds fine. He reached for the consumable. Off to the all-too beautiful (ish) park.
Diary of an old boomer 