Old School

We’re at the bar, watching the ball drop in Times Square.
“I still write last year on my checks,” I say. “I always do stupid shit like that. What about you?”
She puts her drink down. “You still write checks?” she asks. “No online bill payment?”
“I like the feel of writing a check,” I said. “Pointing and clicking doesn’t feel the same.”
“What about using credit cards?”
“Nope. I’m really, really old school.”
She laughed, signed for her tab, and left.
I asked for my tab.
“Two chickens, Bill,” said the bartender.
I handed over the cage.
Old school.