Prologue.

PRESENT DAY (December. 1999)

It was another bitterly cold December afternoon in late 1999. There was a lean, dirty-looking, belligerent male. He had an unfriendly face and looked no younger than 63. He wore an old faded & black double-breasted suit with a classic worn-in English man‘s black top hat. To any young person passing, he would have looked like he was in some form of fancy dress.

He walked with a big weight emphasised on his right leg. Not many people knew that his limp had been caused many years ago when there was nothing that could have been done to correct the problem. He always refused to walk with the much-needed cane that he had that lay dormant in his living room. He was a very proud man who never let on to any pain he may have felt, instead opting for a longer than intended walk to wherever he fancied that day.

To anyone in the small village, he came across as a cynical, old man who hated the world & anyone in it. In private he thought about the life he created & how he felt trapped within. No-one knew his life story. No-one cared. He was alone in the world and he knew it.

He walked the same route he had walked 100 times before. Although they were once a set of narrow cobbled streets. Nowadays, the street had a well-known whiff of fresh tarmac & white floor paint that had been clearly sprayed on recently. He started to think about how things changed over the years.

He was once a young man himself. He knew how it felt like to feel alive & free. In reality, he was ageing and not well at that. He envied all the youngsters he saw around on his walks. He was 90 next year, although he looked much younger. Had it not been for his long-term leg injury he may have felt it.

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