In the back streets of the town, there are people who live in the shadows. Although, their hands may be empty but their hearts are big and their smiles are generous. The things that you can see in their face, their eyes that penetrate your soul and the deep feelings inside you that you are looking at the mirror through the time.
I remember the look of the old man clearly. Wrinkles of his face were telling the story of age, the story of though days that he had seen. The days that became seasons, the seasons that became years and the years that became decades.