The Pervert in Winter

We call him The Perv.
He is elderly, over 65, probably 70. You can tell he works his old muscles out and that he hasn't accepted his age. He always wears the same thing: Baggy shorts wrong for his spindly legs, a long-sleeved collarless shirt, sneakers, a cap. 
He's a member of the art museum and his thing is to follow solo women a third his age or less, Asians often, around the galleries and hit on them. He's there at least twice a week.
"Are you an art student?" he'll ask, and go from there with offers to guide them to a part of the museum they "really should see." At some point he'll try to get their email addresses. He also tries to pick up the museum's front line staff.
A few have reported him to the guards and he's been what the security people call 302'd: Put on watch. At times they follow him to see if he bothers someone. The admissions staff tried to have his membership revoked but the membership department didn't allow it as he hadn't done anything overt; making others uncomfortable is not an actionable offense and, if he were young and appealing his actions would be welcomed by some. (And if he were young and appealing he wouldn't be pathetically trying to pick up women three times a week.)
It bothers the Complete and Total Loser to see The Perv. Not because of what he might do; he's a harmless annoyance, nothing more. It's that he makes the Loser think of what he might turn into in just a few years (provided his prostate cancer doesn't kill him first, which it probably will).
Sad. Needy. An object of derisive laughter. 
Then again, this is likely true now.

A sad, lonely old man leaves after trying to win affection from women a third his age.