There is an old man across from me, a table away. Nursing what I believe is his third Guiness (It’s not even 4pm). Sitting alone surveying the very anti-climactic happenings of the pub around us. Two middle aged gentlemen are carrying on about life at the table to my right. Against the far wall, a man and woman who’ve been here since before I came are still carrying one about god knows what. I remember her whinging about the tube strike, (I, myself, am not a fan either). Two other older men (mid 60’s – but looking MUCH older than my almost 60 year old, extremely fantastic looking father) are dressed very smart in suits and sharing a laugh over a few pints. But my attention has been on the old man in front of me. A blue button up shirt is underneath a blue jumper. Both long sleeved. His white, yet not too thin hair, is combed back, and he sips his pint as he rests his right arm along the ridge on the wall. Calm, and reflective, and just watching. We’re both alone. Yet I am preoccupied with my machine, which is about to run out of battery as I type this. 00:23 remaining. He taps his hand to the beat of the music that plays at a decent level throughout the pub. Doors open and close to the outside and the smell of cigarette smoke wafts in. I want one, but not really. I think they just make me sneeze. They say when you sneeze it means someone is thinking about you, if that’s the case then I reckon someone is mentally stalking me, and I would like them to stop. He sits there still, looking straight ahead. I wonder where he’s from, who he lives with, what his story is. I want to ask, but that’s weird, and I have to get ready to go. Strange dreams again last night. Something about washing my clothes. Laundry. I blame Dan, who was going laundry last night while we were talking. I did some today. Bypassed my laze to actually do something productive. Tonight will be wicked…