The world has forgotten me. I am old – well, maybe not so old, but I look old, I feel old. I walk slowly, with difficulty; I am always afraid I might fall, so I take careful, short steps, taking my time – after all, why should I hurry? I have all the time in the world, I have nothing to do, and no one is waiting for me. No one cares about what I do, they are all out …
