I met an old man this evening, well, that’s a half-truth since we never actually met or exchanged names or pleasantries, but as with all those who’ve lived an impressive number of days, he struck me as delightful, delicate, and wise, stealing a seat beside me at a bustling cafe. He ordered hot chocolate and smelled of stale grass, his rusty cologne speckling the coat keeping him warm as he sniffled. It wasn’t a particularly cold night, but the chill has a way of mingling with frailty, wiggling into bones. Though it shouldn’t be special, his avid fingers managing a smartphone seemed, for a moment, somewhat odd; that was until I recalled where I was, resting at the technological future’s neon heartbeat, or at least one of its pulses.
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