A man sitting alone on a park bench was witnessed looking glum today, whilst ruminating on his sad existence, his place in society, and whether or not it was worth dragging his pathetic life out any longer. Or, at least, that's what it seemed like to me.
The man, who looked like he was in his fifties, was clearly unhappy, and it wouldn't surprise me at all, to learn that he'd been reflecting on his inability to find suitable employment, a lack of good, reliable, and supportive friends, or, quite possibly, a long and painful relationship breakdown, but I could be wrong.
The man sat on the bench for a good half-hour, playing with his fingers, rubbing his hands together, then wringing them like Lady Macbeth, fiddling with a button on his jacket, and glancing this way and that, as if he were trying to come to some critical decision about the rest of his life.
His unshaven face told the full story; his unkempt, unwashed hair provided evidence of the man's plight. Here was an individual who was at the end of his tether, and at war with himself. I wondered how I could help.
Suddenly, a phone rang, and the man reached inside his tatty, black suit jacket. He spoke into the phone:
"Yeah, at the bench," then, "OK. See you."
Not two minutes later, a red Lamborghini entered the park, and wound its way along the narrow road, stopping by the bench. The driver, a gorgeous blonde of about 30, leaned out of the window and kissed the 'depressed' man on the bench, who had risen to meet her. Then he got in the car, and it sped off, leaving me all alone to find someone else to spy on.
