Magic.

This afternoon at McDonald’s, Herb Alpert’s “Rise” came on over the sound system, and I started whistling along. Trey, an 18-year-old crew member who was mopping the floors in my vicinity at the time, and whom I once overheard tell his teenaged coworkers they all should turn off the music tapes and replace the sound with some “real” music, looked over at me and half smiled.

So there’s that. He usually totally ignores me except when he’s waiting on me.

Not long after that, a new kid whom I’d never seen before, probably in his late teens and very cute, was wiping up tables in the vicinity, noticed me glancing at him, and in a perky, super-friendly voice, said to me, “Are you enjoying your visit to McDonald’s, sir? How’s your day going?”

Stunned, I managed to reply, “Pretty good.”

“Just pretty good? Not great?”

He smiled at me the entire time, and I’m not sure, but he sounded like he might possibly be gay.

A couple evenings ago I wrote out an affirmation that I would be frequently surrounded by hot young men who would shower me with attention.

It’s already starting to happen.