I looked in the strapping loop follow and I saw the reflection of this aged man, maybe an octogenarian, gaunt searching and shrunken in physical vitality. I burden hardly make extrinsic the last vestiges of the dreamer’s soul, that hunk-a-mania that has been telling of the name (Pogie! is my pet name, quotation me) and that dynamic, indefaticable spirit that used to never knew the meaning of the word can’t.
I looked again, this time closer to the man in the glass. de facto took me a not on time minute supplementary to realize that this fellow carrying an ill-fitting long coiffure and prematurely wrinkling skin and spiritless eyes was… myself. Or what used to be, me. I almost didn’t recognize the stranger.
But the eyes, they seem to accuse me.
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