Int. House. Day
Sunlight sneaks through drawn curtains into a modest living room. An elderly man, JOHN,  sits on the couch holding a dog-eared black and white picture of a smiling woman.
In the background music from an old radio plays.
Lyrics
I hold your picture in my hand, do my best to understand. Wish I had something more than memories. I think of all the times we had. Moments that are gone and past... and all I have these days.. are memories. Oooh. All I have these days...All I have these days are memories.
The man kisses the photograph and replaces it in the top pocket of his tweed jacket. He eases slowly out of his chair.
EXT. inner City street. Day
Terraced houses line the streets of a typical inner city suburb. John walks towards us, his slow, ambling gait testament to his years. 
John
Age is a funny thing. It wearies you, tarnishes the soul. It's not the physical things; You can learn to live with the odd bit of rheumatism here and there. No, it's deeper than that .
He continues to move slowly towards us. Every step a trauma.
JOHN (CONT'D)
You watch those that you love die and watch yourself rotting away. Then hope itself dies. The hope we all cling to that things will get better. 
A girl of around 20 walks past. John tries a friendly smile, but she doesn't notice him.
JOHN (CONT'D)
When you're young, you pass a girl in the street and she'll look back at you. Maybe once, maybe twice. Third times a charm.
He winks
JOHN (CONT'D)
You don't know it then, but every one of those smiles is a doorway to a different life. As you get older, the looks get fewer. And fewer. With each passing year, you die a little more inside. Lipstick smiles hinting at mischief become smiles of friendship, of sympathy. Until in the end... there are no smiles at all.
John stops and looks at the ground crestfallen. He looks up.
JOHN (CONT'D)
But hey!
He turns right towards one of the terrace houses.
In the doorway the curvaceous figure of a young woman dressed in a basque and high heels.
JOHN (CONT'D)
Thank God for prostitutes!
Chantelle
Evenin' John
He doffs his cap.
JOHN
Chantelle.
He turns to the camera with a wink. The door closes.
The end.