Pictures of a Time Past

Paul had been here before. The nicotine stained ceilings and ragged curtains that draped toward the musky brown carpet. He thought that perhaps he had seen the place in a dream once, though couldn’t be sure.


The elderly man emerged through the splintered wood of the door frame, holding a filthy mug.

"Erm, no thank you. I've got to get back really"

It was a short interview, sub standard for Paul's line of work. Something about hoodlums terrorising local residents. He ceased to care for his work now.

"well thank you for your help anyway. hopefully this will bring some awareness..."

"Well it bloody well wants to! I've been putting up with it for far too long now. I barely leave the house.."

The elderly man continued in the same fashion, faced screwed up bringing prompt definition to his already defined lines. Paul had got used to half listening to conversations and would nod when appropriate often forwarding general responses that he was sure he'd said before.

closing the rickety door behind him Paul wondered how long the old man had jabbered about a life in turmoil. Though soon his thought turned to self pity. He considered himself a drifter, sailing with the current. He wasn’t sure where he would end up, but would never look that far ahead anyway. The way home seemed like hours as Paul pictured the goals and aspirations now lost in a childhood that’s just a distant memory.

The End

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