A Lifetime measured in units of Alcohol

The old man walked down the street at night. He felt cold. Part of being old seemed to be feeling cold. There was, after all only one letter separating them. And being old and feeling cold meant being and feeling tired. This would explain to a silent observer why his progress down the Sector 11 Street was painfully slow to behold, though the only other set of eyes that did so were the bright dark ones of an urban cat, staring from the shadows. Pain was another part of age as well. The young felt pain in great flares that could tear them apart. But there were also great intervals between this pain, to the point where they couldn't remember what it was like until it happened again. His pain was a slow dull burning kind, constant to the point where he himself had forgotten what its absence felt like. Still, that’s what happened when you didn’t have successful children to take care of you he guesssed.

After progressing in this painfully slow fashion for some 20 minutes, he finally reached his destination, a late night liquor shop. It was lit up like a fluorescent island in the dull street lamp lit darkness. He pushed the heavy door open, wheezing with effort. The twine attached to it jangled and the man behind the counter looked up from his paper.

The old man walked up to the muslim man behind the counter. In fairness he had no way of knowing whether he was muslim or not. It didn't really matter. Old men seemed to be given a little more leeway than most when it came to political correctness.
He ordered his bottle of not so cheap whiskey in clipped perfect english.

“640” the possible mohammedan replied.

He fumbled in his pocket for the money. His hands seemed to be working better today, and it was with a shameful pride that he took out the right amount and handed it over without dropping any.

“Thank you sir. Goodnight. And a goodnight to you too.”

"Darwaza band karna."

“ummm.. 'night.” I replied.

He hefted the heavy door open and slowly walked home, his progress charted by the tiny glow of a lit cigarette held in his mouth.