He looked in the mirror and sighed. He had gained twenty pounds in the last four months and it showed in his face, in his posture. He always seemed to be frowning, as if remembering something painful. He ran a hand through his long hair. Thinner now, strands leftover. Surely, there is something left? He was still tall, had a certain something that came from within. He could still see potential in his eyes. Shifting in the mirror, this way and that. Yeah, he's still got it. Not great, but not bad. The room was cavernous. Muted colors, light streaming through tall windows. Dust everywhere, but he didn't mind. He felt old now, though he had only been here 43 years. He didn't think he was supposed to feel this creaking, this leaking of energy. Shuffling to the kitchen he prepares some green tea. No coffee for him anymore. Gone are the cigarettes. Gone is the alcohol. Nobody comes by to see him much. Well, there are the birds on the sill. They always look quizzical, looking in, wondering when he'll come out. And when he finally does, they scatter in surprise. Sitting down at the wobbly kitchen table, he breathes in the steam. Stubble on his face. Extra padding under his chin, under his eyes. But his hands are steady. And he always seems prepared for something, poised. His skin still has some of that silver sheen. It has faded a little, blended nicely with his human skin tone. Really, only children and animals can tell he is different. Really different. And, of course, what could they say? They keep his secret and he watches out for them.