He's a string bean of a man, old, seen more change than I can imagine. Not exactly hunched but he's angled just so at the waist, like he's wearing a heavy backpack. But from the looks of it he could carry it. He hasn't got all his teeth but he's got muscle and definition, and when he works out he wears the cap of a team that folded ages ago.
He moves like a cab in New York, knows exactly where he's going and the fastest way to get there. He blasts through rep after rep, machine after machine, tongue wagging. He's used to harder work, you can tell, he thinks kids today are soft. Looking in the mirror I'd have to agree with him.
He keeps growing, changing. He's doing his best to counteract what nature's done and he's catching up. I know he could beat me blindfolded, I know his life's been hard. I know this man should outlast us all.
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