August 19, 2008
Looks for his place, clutching tickets. I know he'll not take the empty chair across from me, but want to sit in the one he reserved. I get up before he has a chance to ask. Sits down, grey and blue, veins showing through paper-like skin. Lines two chocolate bars, a pair of large earphones, and an old cassete-player in front of him. Easts the sweets noisily, and than fumbles with the player, quiveringly moving it this way and that, hoping to make it work. I avoid looking at him, suddenly afraid of growing old, being left behind.