I shared a breakfast table with a wrinkled old man today. He walked up, pulled a chair and sat down, giving me a basal "hello".

His skin were mottled, covered with liver spots like a tattoo artist gone 'leopardy-inspired'. As he sat, out comes the pack of Benson, a cheap lighter and a some serviettes.

"Paper thosai, and teh tarik"



There I thought. Old, wrinkled and living out his retirement years. So nice to wake up, take a walk and make a friend from a stranger. To do what he has been doing all his life (or taking it up now that there's nothing to loose).

For all I know, he could have arrived in a chaffeur-driven Daimler, lives in a mansion surrounded by playmates ala-Hefner, baths in champagne and sleeps on money.

Which ever...

Retirement. Not a care...