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And there was that young red-head guy. First time I saw him, we were in the public library. I was reading a rock magazine, and he was holding a newspaper. All of a sudden, the noise of pages being frantically rubbed between thumbs and indexes made me look at him. His eyes were making quick lateral movements. The rest of his body had not budged. Then he stoppped. I went back to my reading. A couple of minutes later, he was at it again. And so on. He would get up at times to pick another newspaper to enjoy a different sound.
He had a beard back then, long hair, clean clothes. He shaved, had his hair cut, ain't so clean anymore, but seems to see the world around him more.
Once I was at a friend's house, paying him compliments about his garden. He told me that he had had hard times seeding there for, when he started doing so, his shovel hit a plastic bag. He dug it up - it was only garbage from the former owner of the house, no morbid things, and my friend moved through the house with the bag so the garbage men would collect it by the entrance door. He went back to the garden, and carried on with shovelling. That's when he found another plastic bag, and another, and another...
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