He’s too old
When spring arrived in my home town my great-grandfather would go out for long walks. He’d put on his suit, take his hat and his wooden walking stick and gently stroll along the avenida to the park. Once there, he’d sit on a bench and wait for somebody to start a conversation. He was a natural communicator and storyteller. I would sometimes find him slowly walking back home. We’d talk about the day, and he’d tell me about the people he’d met and the conversations he’d had. On