A bald man with a white beard in his 60s sits alone in the middle of an apple orchard on a wooden chair, dressed in a sharp, dark plum suit. His posture is slightly hunched, he is faced back, and he clutches a worn black leather suitcase tightly in his lap. The orchard is filled with rows of apple trees, their leaves a dull green under the overcast sky, with a faint mist hovering over the ground. Fallen apples scatter the path, some bruised and rotting. The atmosphere is heavy and melancholic, with the gloomy, dim lighting casting long shadows, as if capturing a moment of deep contemplation or loss. The scene feels surreal yet somber. --s 50