A beautiful flower stands in his path.

So delicate. So fragile.

He leans over as far as his rickity old spine allows him. He takes a small sniff.

So sweet. Like innocence.

He reaches out with his old hands. Dry and shedding from lack of love.

He touches the flower's sweet, soft petals. It suddenly shrivels up.

Fate or rejection?

It's all the same to him. The Loomer.

He walks off. Hunched over.

Same old loveless egsistance.