through europe

He must press on. No time to be lost. If there ever had been time to lose, he did not remember it. Sunday evenings? Perhaps, evenings when he should be sat down with his dreams but even then, how could anyone cross their heart and say that was lost time. How could you win without having your dreams?

He was sitting in the garden, like the previous day and the one before. The warmth of the grass, soft under the soles of his feet, suggested that the morning was starting. The old man stretched his back and curled his hands on his lap. He was keeping his eyes half-closed, as he had always done since his childhood, with the carelessness of blind people.