the old man is grumpy.  he came out to clean the dew from my table, mumbling about a cold front moving in.  i don't like it.  i am on vacation.  cold fronts are not allowed.  it is uncomfortable, his presence.  he is not comfortable with his bones.  i see through him.  there is regret.  some of us carry it around, it surrounds us like a force field.  some of us bury it deep down in our guts.  cancer.  but the lucky ones have learned to let it go.  it floats free with the meteors and satellites and rubble that is outer space.