It was a summer morning. The man got up, got ready quite quickly. He pulled the door to, and stepped into the street. It was still early, the sunshine was bright, the street like a wasteland.

A small boy was kicking a football against a low wall. As the man approached, the boy kicked it towards him.  The man returned it, the boy returned it again. The man lifted it with his toe, flicked it ten feet in the air. The boy let it bounce and headed it back.
The man trapped it and left it at the boy's feet as he walked by.

'Where you going?'  asked the boy.
'To see my dad.'
'When was your dad born?'  asked the boy.
'Nineteen twenty four.'
The boy lifted his finger to his mouth.
'Ninety, that makes him ninety.'  said the man.
'Better hurry then.'  said the boy.
The man looked at the boy properly for the first time.
And smiled.