His cane bares as many wrinkles as the tired sagging years of skin Trembling, the scuffle of leather on the grass ssswwwwissshhhhh was not heard over the drags of fresh air New as it enters aged as it leaves Does that glassy stare see? Is he searching for an X on the road? or is he purely on a quest to move one swish in front of the other escaping the burn of age the spike of purpose the rush of world always better than the rush of pills 8 a.m. "Have a nice day!" Grab, lean back, swallow 8 p.m. "Have a nice night!" Grab, lean back, swallow escape. shivering slightly in the lonely place skin thin as a poorly made jacket in seeps all the cold weathered from the storm of living the storm of deaths