An open palm, an earnest plea, A lifetime etched in monochrome, He speaks of how things used to be, Or builds a memory a home. Beneath the brim of weathered felt, The silvered years begin to show, With every card that time has dealt, And every truth he’s come to know. The city blurs and fades away, A soft, out-of-focus background scene, While he commands the stage today, Caught somewhere in the space between.