The doors of the lift slide open ...

The doors of the lift slide open and out goes an old man. He walks with a limp and crutching down the corridor he sits between me and a friend of him. His friend is as old as him. We'll have to kill time, we all have an appointment with the physiotherapist. The two men start chatting about the assorted pains and aches their bodies harbour. They complain in what looks like a true but silly way of complaining, as if they found indulgence in their self-pity. Their conversation turns to a common friend. They fall silent after a while. The old man on my left returns their verdict - they are much better off than their common friend. Him, he is alone. The old man looks at the doors of the lift across the aisle with a vacant stare. Oddly he repeats aloud his conclusion to no one in particular - him, he's alone.