The old farmer was sitting on the bench in front of his farmhouse, waiting for customers while enjoying the sunshine. He was thinking of the past, all the people in the village he had been with as a kid and as fellow farmers later on. Until recently he had had close contact with most of them, but lately many had shut off (kind of); they were not interested in what was going on in the world anymore, in politics, culture, sports, etc. Not even farming and all the new inventions still interested them. Some had died, most of serious illnesses, but others just of old age, as it was said. The farmer himself was convinced they died of boredom, no purpose in life, nothing to do anymore. He himself was a bit tired most days but still felt very much alive.