Never centre stage it seems, seen drinking morning coffee, always at the corner table, walking down the street sometimes, over-staying at the counter, holding doors open for strangers, tugging at a memory, now he walks unrecognised. A women askes her friend in passing ” Whose that guy who bought the paper, the one who held the door for me”, “No idea,” her friend replies, “Do you fancy going shopping?”
Always polite, a point of honour, a fragment passing by your life, living at address unknown, non-committal on his status, social circle unrevealed. Now he shares his life on Forums, picking up on random interests , noting comments made by strangers who say “we are all family,” Still he lives unrecognised.
Christmas day he sits alone, nibbling on some kind of sandwich, playing with his recollections. Recalling phrases from a carol, sifting through his memories. Too polite to sit in judgement, he lost the will to blame it seems, Loved, perhaps in recollection, by lives who drifted off the radar: known but unrecognised
Is he an image of our future, reflecting on his obsolescence, lingering on the edge of contact, summoning his dignity, somehow older than surprise.