An Old Man and His Grandson (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

‘Excuse me, have you seen my grandson?’ the man leant on his cane as he asked. He was wearing slippers and a sweater which hung loose on his shoulders.

‘Your grandson?’ asked the museum guard, blinking as he rose from his folding chair.

‘My grandson,’ the man nodded, ‘yes.’ He cast a glance across the exhibition hall and the wrinkles on his face multiplied.

‘Well, I don’t know, how does he look?’ The guard sniffed, wiped his nose with the back of his hand, noticed a booger had attached itself and wiped it off on the seat of his trousers. The man looked back at him.

‘He should be young,’ said the man, ‘just a little boy.’

‘Yes?’ said the guard checking his hand for snot, but it was gone now. The man beside him sucked on his teeth.

‘What is his name?’ asked the guard.

‘His last name will be Pond, like mine,’ said the man and looked around the hall again.

‘First name?’ asked the guard.

‘Phillip, Phillip Pond,’ said the man following a young man in a beret with his eyes.

‘I could tell the reception that Phillip Pond has gone missing,’ said the guard.

‘Hm?’ the man looked at him with raised eyebrows, ‘but I’m right here,’ he indicated the front of his sweater.

‘Then what is your grandson’s name?’

The man sighed and shook his head.

‘I don’t know,’ he said.

‘You don’t know?’ asked the guard.

‘I’ve never met him, but I must have some family left somewhere.’ He shuffled off with the assistance of his cane.