Like every day, with a comb impregnated under the tap has ordered the few hair left. He then wears a denture. Look with pride at what appears in the mirror and think of your own colco: “You’re a 94 year-old self-employed man and still valuable to society.”

75 meters from the front to the bakery. Knee prostheses should exert a titanal effort. Hold the walker firmly and go there. In her passing through the zebra she discovers that she has been seen by the daughter of a former colleague of the company. The woman looks at him with sorrow and thinks of her own blow: “What was this man and notice how he has left the passage of time; the poor old man has no other task to go to buy the newspaper, and for that there is also a lot of comeria for that”.

It has come well. Many people wait in line for it to extend to the street. OK. As expected. In fact, you usually have time to recover your temple by going to the rush hour. As a result, today it has also managed to breathe once and launch all the demand continuously: “Good morning. Half a small, please.” The dependent looks at him responsibly and thinks of his own blow: “He hasn’t bought any big or sweet bread for a long time, he’s slimmed down a lot and seems lonely and fallen down.”

The return home has not been slow. He has almost thrown tents on the uphill. The challenge of climbing the two legs of the portal is also regular, but in the end it has reached the height of the house lock. Two turns to the key. First introduce the taca and then it. From the hallway he discovers that he has left the radio on and you hear the voice of the announcer: “…soon they will start putting the third dose of vaccine on the most vulnerable people...”

One of the kitchen fluorescents has been burned, but the hake of the casserole smells well. Leave the bread in the basket and from April bring out the J&B bottle that each Sunday puts on the table. For her lady, the coffee table was apparently not a sufficient category to round off the holidays' meals; it gave the official end to the binge with a tirrinttinttin. Nostalgia has been agreed with those blue eyes sitting in front of him.

Since grandma isn't drinking the whiskey in her honor every Sunday, but grandpa can't think of what grandma thought of her own blow. My grandfather wants the grandmother to be present when the bottle is pulled out, but I think the rite makes the widowed grandfather more present than the grandmother. I think that grandpa, in addition to missing the grandmother, misses the person he was for the woman. She lacks her grandmother's eyes, she lacks what she saw.

“I realized that it wasn’t for others what I thought for myself,” I read once. Maybe, in addition to what we are for ourselves, we are also for others. Although there may be some limits. Maybe the looks are building us. Valuable man, poor old man, sad buyer, vulnerable person, widowed grandfather. They are all the same. Or none.

Every time my grandmother filled the forest, I would look at her sideways and I would think to my kid. “Festazale Rebelde”. The almost invisible response to my grandmother's lap I liked. I knew that my grandmother was not a tyrinttintorera, but once I started it I got it right, and it's true that to round the meal coffee takes something behind it. As a friend says: the chocolate tanning on the table is as necessary as the end point of the phrase.