The kind of old you get when you spend too much time alone with the bottle.
Born and raised in Innsbruck but spent most of the last ten living in and out of the bars.
When we stopped in the train station, for a quick glass of red while waiting for the bus, he instantly began to chat us up.
Without hesitation, he then pulled out a stack of worn, well-traveled photos. Marked, 1960, 65', 67', 70', 71' and on...
He explained where he was, what he was doing, who he loved and who he is sure has long forgotten him...in each photo, year by year.
...And as the years and photo's progressed, his enthusiasm about his life fading. Divorces, deaths, moves and wanderings...
By the time he reached 2006, he also reached into his pocket and took out a camera.
He then stood up, asked for my hand and we began to dance.
"My name is Reinhardt..." he said.
After the song, after the wine and after the dance, Reinhardt took a photo of my face.
He then smiled and said, "Now I tell the story of 2006"