Freewriter The Old Man

 

Our first rewrite now that we're back in Southern France. The temperature has dropped from 100F/37°C to 65°F/18°C with a blessed wind. However, the wind made sitting outside unpleasant so we ended up inside at the Mille et Une tearoom. We could see people walking by. Our prompt was an old man with a cane. The free writes are great motivator for the rest of our writings.

Rick's freewrite

Every morning, cold, warm, rain, sun, the rare snow, Jorgé urged his frail body out of bed soon after the 8:12 freight train rumbled past his deuxiéme stage apartment.

He put on the same pale blue clam digger pants, red FCB Barcelona jacket and fisherman's crap, grabbed his cane and trundled down the narrow stairs to rue d'Yser, from the corner, up the road to the center of the village, wave good morning to the early risers at the PMU café who had already placed their pets for the first race (even though it didn't take place until mid-afternoon) and across the rue Nationale ignoring the don't cross signal at the village's only traffic light. 

Destination: Bon Glacé not for ice cream, certainly, but for the only smoked tea in town, after which he'd have an espresso chaser to wake up for the day.

Almost all of his Catalan friends were gone. Now the village was mainly tourists. So he'd sit here for awhile, lost in his memories, then amble home in time for the 10:12 freight train.

D-L's freewrite

Pierre could hear his cane click on the cobblestones. He has to be careful not to fall. That happened last week and it was so embarrassing laying in the middle of the street and people asking if he were alright or should they call an ambulance.

He's limped home and Marie had called him a silly old man for forgetting the baguette he'd left on the ground.

Every morning he went out for the daily bread and the Independent.

He'd said bonjour to the green grocer, the pharmacist and the newspaper seller. The shops had changed hands many times over since he was a boy. 

The village had become gentrified. No more goats and chickens on the streets now filled with tourist from Paris, London, even  Amsterdam.

He held his baguette tight and the Independent under his arm.

He planned to go out every morning as long as he could --  Old age stunk.