Literature
Wake me, quick...
He almost made fifty before the world started to break him. Before he began to become one of the hunched, lumbering greys who threw tight-lipped smiles in passing as a distraction so they could melt away, threw laughs like ventriloquists to the other side of the room as they turned to the shadows near the doors. Never made eye contact in case They made Their sarcastic, damp-cold, one-sided conversation, tired of having to nod lifelessly just to get away. Any response They would take as a challenge, and there were just too many of Them.
He almost made a stand before the world redefined Foundation and pushed him back down to the level of