Voyeur: Creeping on Old Men in Ostia

There was nothing particularly special about him. He was an old man -probably in his late seventies. He wore khaki pants and a white polo that clung to his body as it was drenched in sweat. Yet, he still wore his grey windbreaker. On his feet he wore semi-new white sneakers covered in the dust from the ground around him. On his waist he was sporting a black fannypack, which was slightly unzipped letting tufts of tissues stick out. He wore clip-on sunglasses over his aviator style regular glasses. In his hand was a camera filled with beautiful pictures of the ruins and many pictures of the ground and his feet.

He shuffled along the road lines with ancient buildings. His steps were small as his body was uncertain. He had just been diagnosed with Alzheimer's. He knew he could not put off his trip to Italy any longer. It was not he who had wanted to go in the first place, it was his late wife. He was an orphan and did not care where his family was from, but his wife, she care quite a bit. Unfortunately, a few months back she had died suddenly from stroke. They had always planned to go to Italy to visit her family's homeland. Her entire family was Italian. 

When she died, he was too overcome by grief to think of visiting the country. But, he no longer knew how long he could remember her dream. So, he set out on his own, refusing company from his family, touring Italy, taking as many pictures as possible. When he gets home, he plans to leave the pictures on his wife's grave.