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Magazine.

Continuing: I'm sixty years old. My girlfriend is twenty-two. And I've never been happier — or more hated. — Page 3

But one day she asked if I wanted to grab dinner. "As friends," she added quickly. "I just... I like talking to you."

I said yes.

That dinner turned into another. Then another. Then a walk in the park. Then a movie. Then one night, standing outside her apartment, she kissed me.

"I've wanted to do that for weeks," she said.

"Amber, I'm old enough to be your grandfather."

"I know. I don't care."

"People will talk."

"Let them."

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