It's like hitting a game-winning home run then walking back onto the field to look for your contact lens. Like telling someone off with a terrific zinger and walking out the door, only to return to borrow money for a cab. It's like entertaining everyone with a hilarious joke and then retelling it to a latecomer, while everyone else hears it again.
This guy. We'll call him Rex to start the story. Rex had it all. The backwards hat, the black shades, the bright red motorcycle. He revved that engine and took off down the road like a bolt of lightning. That high pitched bike rev that sounds like "NEIN!" Nein-Nein-Neeeeeeiiiiiin-Neeeeeeeeeiiiiiiiiinn. Like a German Transformer.
And with that, Rex was gone.
A few minutes go by. Something's wrong. Rex is back, but he's kind of dawdling along looking down at the road, searching for something.
Oh no. Rex, once cool and no doubt well-endowed thanks to years of engine revving, has become Mortimer. Awkward and unsure, his bike barely idling. Mortimer has removed his glasses.
What did he drop? A pocket protector? His allergy medicine? This can't be the same guy. Mortimer, what happened to you? You used to be so Rex. Now look at you.
I've lost all faith in humanity.