The Midnight Apothecary

It starts with a twinge. Perhaps you overextended during that spirited game of squash in London, or maybe the mere act of sleeping on a pillow that wasn't "orthopedically sanctioned" has finally caught up with you.

In your youth, the night was a frontier. Now, it is a series of strategic maneuvers involving lumbar support and the quiet hope that the rain doesn't aggravate your "good" knee. You don’t need a safe word for the scandalous—you need one for the stairs. For the lifting of groceries. For the audacity of turning your head too quickly to the left.

You aren't surrendering; you are simply negotiating with the passage of time. And sometimes, the only effective negotiator comes in a small, round, orange-coated tablet.