The old man in pink
When I am an old man I will wear pink, with a red hat which doesn’t go and doesn’t suit me. And I will spend my pension on Whiskey and say we’ve no money for butter. I will sit down on the pavement when I’m tired, go out in my slippers in the rain, pick flowers in other people’s gardens and learn how to spit.
But for now I must have clothes that match, pay my rent, not swear on the street and set a good example for the children. I must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
I ought, however, to practice a little, so people who know me won’t be too shocked and surprised when suddenly I am old and start to wear pink.