Tag Archives: white shirt
His white shirt is tucked into his beige trousers. His grey hair blows across his pate in the chill breeze. He tends to his border with a garden fork, industrious and undefeated by age.
He stands at the supermarket checkout, wingeing. His balding head shines and his white shirt moves as he slings his shopping into the trolley. The cashier and I exchange a glance of exasperation as he witters.