On Monday, I was in Cheong-Yang-Li waiting to meet my friend. That's when I saw a feeble old man. He looked to be around his late 70s. His small chest and narrow shoulders made him look even skinnier and shorter. But his square jaws and high cheekbones gave me the impression that he was somewhat stubborn. Wrinkles were all over his face which reminded me of crumpled papers. His skin was dark, probably tanned from receiving too much sunlight. The clothes he wore had black stains on them which were tattered, close to rags. He had gray sneakers on which I presumed to have once been white. Unlike his dark skin and dull clothes, his hair was white as snow. It was surprising to see a few white hairs sticking out of his ears, too. Expressionless, his gaze was fixed on the ground. As he stooped down to pick up one of the coffee cans lying on the floor, I could see that his back was a little crooked, bent with age. Holding a black plastic bag in his left hand, I noticed that he had rough hands with thick yellow fingernails. As if his long years were full of hardships, his small eyes seemed sad and empty.
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