Absurd Rebel

He's in his late sixties, though his face bears many more years. His white-shaded moderately-groomed beard on his dark black wrinkled face give away his story. At first sight, you might presume he is a homeless person as many folks around. Well, I don't believe he is. You see him sitting on the bus stop bench, his back bent over, his head hanging towards his torso; sleeping. How could anyone sleep like that -one might think- ?. Pop, tell me, what have you had to endure to be able to doze off that uncomfortably? How was your life, old fella? What sort of days have you had to go through to end up here, bent over to sleep? A day after day, same spot, same bending, my neck cracks when I see you, pal. I sense the pain telegraphed to my spine by merely contemplating your posture. Look at me, pop! Look at me! How could you do it! How do you keep going? No, the question is why! Why man?! Why do you keep going? How do you fight the urge to throw your weak skeleton in front o