Dreary eyed old man dreams of days past
his youth
he looks with a distant sadness through the window
perhaps to a spot where he once played as a child
a spot now made of concrete and steel
perhaps to a tree no longer there
under which he first kissed his lady
his only lady
who left him suddenly so many years ago
perhaps to a field now littered with progress
a field he worked for thirty years
he can almost taste the sweat on his lips
'Oh, to be young again' he thought

'Here's your change, Pops!'
said the purple haired, nose ring clad cashier,
unwittingly
'Perhaps not' the old man muttered to himself
as he shuffled into the Sunlight