TIMER
Prompt - Timer : Set a timer for 5 minutes and just write. Don't worry about it making sense or being perfect.
Ramblish , shambling Ranulf Sheldon was feeding the ducks, sat on a park bench by the pond in the park. And old man passing the time, communing with nature. Was that what other people saw? Was he an 'old' man? What was 'old'? Was seventy four 'old'? He didn't feel particularly old, well not all the time. He still cooked his own meals, usually from scratch. He cleaned his flat, he washed his clothes, changed the bed every week, lived a civilised life. He repaired or replaced things that broke. His life was ongoing.
He didn't just sit in the park either, although it was one of his favourite pastimes when the weather was kind. But he also walked. A decent distance, every day. Not dawdling either, but as briskly as he could manage on the day, in his awkwardly rolling gait. He'd always walked that way though, this wasn't some product of arthritis or some other sign of debilitation, but the walk he'd grown up with, inherited from his wayward father.
But he recognised he was no longer much use to society. A little voluntary work. the occasional offer of help to a neighbour (Mrs Johnstone - now there was somebody 'old', even if she was technically younger than him.
[I did correct seven typos before copying into this post!]
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