Old Man at MacDonalds

There was a frail and feeble old man eating alone at Macs. Having finished his meal, with one hand on his walking stick, he attempted to dispose the contents of his tray with the other. 

I resisted the urge to assist.

He was slow and unsteady at the simple task, pushing and shoving at the flap that covered the bin with his tray-full of trash. He eventually succeeded, and hobbled away out the door of the restaurant on his walking stick.

The blaring pop music is making my ears hurt.

The air-conditioner is blowing uncomfortably cold air at my face.

And I can't help sighing at the mundane conversation and incessant swearing from the youths sitting beside me.

It's time for me to leave.

I need some peace.

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