I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
Prufrock no longer tells us of his tales of "biscuits and coffee". It seems much more interesting and surreal now. Did his sense of imagination and curiosity heighten with age? This poem is starting to resemble the shattered hopes and aspirations of an elderly individual riddled with regret.