The Fall of Titans

I saw my old hairdresser at Waitrose a few weeks ago. The one I used to call a 'god' because he was so good at doing my hair. His hair had turned grey, his face unshaven, and he staggered around as if he had a limp. We only locked eyes for a fraction of a second. I have no idea if he recognised me. How did he come to this state? I am ashamed to say that I did not go up to him to say hello. But my instinct told me that he wouldn't have wanted to be recognised. He used to be full of confidence. Does the world of hairdressing really chew you up and spit you out, just like banking?