He hated going bald and old/ Douglas Stuart
He hated going bald, hated getting old; it made everything hard work. He adjusted the mirror lower so that he couldn’t see the reflection of his bare head. He found his long, thick moustache and sat absent-mindedly stroking it, like a favourite pet. Under it his spare chin wobbled. He tilted the mirror back up. The Glasgow streets were shiny with rain and street lights.
The search for someone to blame/ Margaret Atwood
In that vanished country of mine, things had been on a downward spiral for years. People became frightened and then angry. The search for someone to blame. Why did I think it would nonetheless be business as usual? Because we’d been hearing these things for so long, I suppose. You don’t believe the sky is falling until a chunk of it falls on you.
