Oldies.

They are dear old Lemons. Wandering around with their K.rudd money in their pockets. Driving slow. Stopping at weird times. Doing things that are just not understandable.

They tell us stories.

Stories of their youth. Stories of why throwing a rock at Julie is wrong, and stories of how hard it was for them in their day to communicate without this bloody "interweb or what ever you call it." They are our Grandparents. Our neighbours. Our idols. They are so full of wisdom that they remove their common sense part of their brain to fit all this life experience in.

In the place I live, you can't escape the wrath of the oldies. Some like to call it "God's waiting room," and I can see why. There are Oldies everywhere. Taking the parking places. Making us wait for them to cross the road. Selling us hand crafts.

I was sitting eating Gelati at my girlfriend's work when some Sunday Walkers crossed my gaze across to my girlfriend. They were casually talking. Two men. Two women. I captured a glimpse of their conversation: "Can you put on weight?

No.

Well do you have a sugar disorder?

No. Do you?

No. I don't.

Hmm."

It was funny at the time. They seemed to be basically talking about what disorders they had like it was a shopping list.