My Old Neighbour

Staring from the window of my 3 story house, I see an old man puffing away on his cigarette. People say that he is an intelligent man, which could evidently be seen from the wrinkles of skin on his forehead. The man blew the last puff of his smoke out onto his bristly, grey mustache. He stomped out the butt of the cigarette as he stood up with confidence. With a stretch of his back and a crack of his neck, the man took off his ball cap and scratched the remaining amount of hair he possessed on his head with his fragile hands. Even from the my point of view, I could see the white flakes of dandruff pour off his head like a snowy day in the middle of December. With a sudden look of discomfort in his pale blue eyes, the old fellow clenched his chest as he fell towards the ground. I ran down my stairs and outside, onward to his house. I grabbed the mans wrist checking to see if he had a pulse. His hands were stained a dark yellow from the continual years of smoking. The grandfather like figure opened his eyes, clearly in agonizing pain. I phoned 911 and within minutes they responded to the scene of his mishap. It was now 2 weeks after the accident and I noticed the old man had arrived back home feeling as good as he could be. He went inside momentarily and before I walked away from the window, he came out again, with a smoke in hand he sat down on his chair with his frail body and lit up another smoke. I then thought to myself with sadness in my voice, "Haven't you learnt yet?"