As he gets off the metro, everything instantly feels familiar. He routinely walks through the gates, then enters the draughty hall of the small train station where the metro stops as well. He ignores the kiosk with the tins of cold cocoa and the greasy cakes, childish treats that he for many years was unable to resist, even as an adult. He is a able to resist them now. In fact, he has learned to curb more or less all of his impulses - except the one that has brought him back here after such a long time. The purpose of this venture? Hard to say. Whatever it is, he's willing to put a lot at risk. Time is running out after all, he's almost an old sod. Old sod? Well he could have chosen a more charitable wording, but what the heck: he's had enough of shying away from harsh truths, of hiding behind prudish euphemisms. So he isn't a "senior", if you please, not even an "elderly person", he's just an o-l-d s-o-d, got it? Well, he almo