5pm. A parchment of an old bloke. Small, dark and wrinkled. One leg hiked up on the stone bench.  A cigarette dangling from the fingertips. Reflecting.

There was a time when infinity stretched in front, and the young were impatient with “when you grow up you will understand”. Now the years stretch behind and eternity looms ahead. Droplets of could-haves, should-haves, might-have-beens melt into the fog of apathy and forgetfulness. The afternoon sun disappears long before it slips into the night.

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