He groaned a little as he shifted and settled. He couldn't help it these days. It was getting harder to ignore, especially in the winter when he could feel the wind cutting right through him; he was getting old.
He can feel his neighbours eyeing him. Wondering why he's still hanging around. Out with the old and in with the new, as they say. He's seen the neighbourhood change over the years. Getting more posh by the day.
Now everybody just wants the newest version of everything. Coming out with new versions of every damn thing before you've even learned to use the last one. Used to be that people would fix things when they broke; now they just give up on them and throw them away.
There used to be more like him; not terribly flashy, but solid. Dependable. Oh he knows, he looks a little worse for wear, but does that really negate him completely?
He's seen so much. The stories are there to be told, if someone would just stop to listen.