Finished with the morning walk, the old man slowly sat down on the one of eight wooden benches bordering the emerald grassy courtyard. The artificial knee was supposed to put an end to his leg pain, but it wasn’t living up to what the surgeon had claimed.
The seasons were changing, or at least that’s what he thought, because his leg was aching something terrible. Or maybe it was a storm rolling in or he had overdone his walk again, or perhaps it was all three.
He sighed and rubbed the 10-year-old scar. If he were honest, the knee hurt all the time. Read More»