The two old men were sat at a table outside a pub. It was a freezing cold January morning. Not a day to sit around chewing the cud and watching the world go by. This was theatreland and wherever you looked there were billboards advertising shows.
What were they doing there? Had they just come off a night shift at a theatre? It seemed unlikely. It was around 9.30am. Were they on their way to work? What’s the story?
Everyone else scurried by, heads down obscured by scarves, hands shoved well and truly in pockets.
When I am older and time is no longer on my side will I sit quietly waiting?
The story of a life, recounted, a nodding audience, dwindling.
My simple needs, a cup, a taste, the finest in a lifelong gathering
Collections of the day, the careless mind retreating.