The amused glint in the old man's knowing eyes drew my fascination and, as I walked past, I gazed into them from behind my dark sunglasses. He was shorter than I and walked with the aid of a black, t-shaped cane. He was dressed all in black. His mouth twitched into a small smile as he continued to stare mysteriously at me. The whole strange scene had an aura of deja vu about it.
In an instant the dreamy bubble popped and I was far past him, but the memory of his eyes remains burned in my imagination. His face was a blur, an inconsequential slab of aged skin and bone. But his eyes were recognition itself. They were chillingly familiar and dangerously animated. It was as if time's linear string had been bungled, and the old and young Brian Looney had met by some impossible chance.
I can now only reach for lost meaning as the evening's rosy film drips from the falling skies and limits the light.
In an instant the dreamy bubble popped and I was far past him, but the memory of his eyes remains burned in my imagination. His face was a blur, an inconsequential slab of aged skin and bone. But his eyes were recognition itself. They were chillingly familiar and dangerously animated. It was as if time's linear string had been bungled, and the old and young Brian Looney had met by some impossible chance.
I can now only reach for lost meaning as the evening's rosy film drips from the falling skies and limits the light.
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