The Shearer

 The old man shuffling into the town hall was wearing track pants and slippers with a flannelette shirt. The shirt was tucked in and he was alone so he didn't quite fit into any box I knew in terms of presentation. Too tidy to be undignified but too comfortable to care what any else thought.

I was speaking to someone else at the time but after that conversation ended the man was sitting alone, waiting to speak to a government representative so I took the opportunity to say hello. "How are they looking after you today?" He  was perky and started to talk a little. At some point he said he'd been a shearer for alomost sixty years. I couldn't believe that I'd heard right and stopped to confirm. Yes, almost sixty years.

"How's your back?" was my first question and he looked at me with just the smallest hint of amazement and told me it was ok "but the knees have gone, they're no good at all. I keep falling over but it's ok because the grass is soft" 

We laughed together, the government person called, the shearer said it was good to chat and that was the end of it. I bet he had some stories to tell.