...as he walked away into the sun.

He’s an old Texan, all wrinkled up, hair none other than frail white. Still, each time he spoke of his younger days, his eyes lit up ever so brightly, giving sheer contrast from his rustic mellowed voice. His younger days were none other than those at work, where he overlooked the design team or when they used to draft by hand. He never spoke of anything other than that, even when he spoke of blondes, but that too was to do with a chap at work. He didn’t speak for the sake of speaking and it wasn’t merely to comment on our work as every word that came out of his lips were of a bygone era, the story of his life.

As the evening came, we all adjourned and made our way out of uni, as the bulk of students departed for the train, all that was left was this old man walking all alone from it all. Every step he took got him further from the crowd and I couldn’t help but to think that I end up at the very same path he took as he walked into the sun.

All alone.