Thirty—the promise of a decade of loneliness, a thinning list of single men to know, a thinning brief-case of enthusiasm, thinning hair.
Here is another reference to aging that seems to foretell an end to the freewheeling, youthful spirit of the Jazz Age.
Compare Prufrock’s anxiety in T. S. Eliot’s “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” written a decade earlier:
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)
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