The Fisherman By Casey Ang
By the river. An old man in brilliant white sits by it. He has a fishing line in hand, and dips it into the water. JOHN enters, and they meet.
Old Man
Rare to see someone here. And young too!
John Only because I walk easier and faster. Old Man
Hm. The young have too much energy in the legs.
John We walk easier. Old Man Rare to see a young man here! People like you don’t like to see the river where I sit, being slow and watchful. John
What do you mean?
Old Man See, you’re blocking the sun a little…everything changes. The shades of it…Just watching, that’s what I meant. You learn to observe things. What’re you staring at? John Your hair’s so white. And your shirt too, like snow. Only your face is different. Old Man When you are my age, you appreciate the colour white. White… is a smart colour. It makes a man shine, the way the sun reflects off it. It commands attention; courageous; pure martial spirit. White is the colour few men have taste for. John I find it glaring, cutting, and cold. Old Man
Maybe you need aching knees to see white good.