The wave of a hand, a flourish. Both seated, they nearly share a height, and the old man's frailty disposes him to leaning. They nearly converge.

"The gondolas, yes. I remember. When the waters warm, and a beautiful woman does you the kindness of sharing your boat." He laughs. "Yes, that I remember. It was not so long ago. Or perhaps... I suppose, you'll find out yourself. How the years fly, and you never notice you pass with them. Slowly. It's a slow thing. Until..."

Age is a cruel mistress.

"You are happy. And it pleases me that you are happy. But are the people?"