The End

That old man is not an ordinary old man. He has a father. The old man’s father is also old. He is not known as an old man, but as the old man’s father; maybe because he hasn’t done much in his life. The old man has always been old; I have never seen him young. And his father is even older. Both use sticks to move around. They both dine at a restaurant in the nearby alley and they both are old. Their hair are white as snow, they shake like a washing machine, which is grinding clothes for years. They both use artificial teeth for chewing. They are friends as well as enemies. They fight over small things, but also are each other’s best friends. They wear thick glasses and still, can read each other’s eyes perfectly. They are like a couple, of two husbands, of two friends, of two lovers, of two enemies. It is hard to count their years.