torsdag 17. januar 2013


as i stumbled carelessly down the paved road he started waving at me. not the friendly "hi, it's good to see you"-way, but the intense kind of waving that i'd always hated.
and he just kept on waving. and as i grew closer i just kept on walking down the paved road.
by now i'd looked at the sky, looked at the bits of stone molded into the paved road itself, the other linen-wearing people standing in his proximity, the smile of the cute girl i'd never take a look at again, her breasts, the way she had tucked her hair into her sweater, her perfectly shaped thighs and - by what i presumed - her father. i tried anything imaginable to not seem like my eyes had caught his waving.
but he just kept on waving. intensely.
by the time i passed the waving man - it had felt like a lifetime - he started yelling at me.
"SEÑOR. SEÑOR. SEÑOR. SEÑOR. MISTER, PLEASE (obviously english was not his thing, but at least he had given it a shot, i thought)."
his desparation tempted me. i had to take a look at him.
his eyes - sunken into his skull - and his lips - folded around teeth i could tell hadn't been brushed recently - both screamed at me.
this is why i hate being abroad, i thought. this is why i never travel to foreign countries. foreign cities, even. because even though most accidents happen at home - or at least so the urban myth says - i prefer being at home. the comforting loneliness. the lack of responsibility. the lack of unfamiliar men screaming at you.
i stopped. took a deep breath. and i made sure that i had stopped. at least until i was sure that the old man had stopped waving. i sighed.
"what to do you want?" i said, trying to reassure myself that i wasn't screaming at him. because i hadn't. or had i?
and then: from the depths of his eyesockets i could see a faint spark of life.
suddenly he grabbed my left shoulder, even though i was certain that he was standing several feet away from me.
out of pure social angst i jumped back. but he held tight. almost too tight. and i wished that i'd been shaking of fear. but i didn't.
"mister," he said. i nodded.
"i have been waiting for you," he said. i nodded again, but i wished i hadn't.
"please, mister," he said.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT". by now i couldn't help myself. i had to scream. i couldn't tell, but i knew that everyone nearby was looking at me.
"JUST TELL ME WHAT DO YOU WANT". why on earth did i have to yell THIS loud?
"i have waited for you. i have waited to forsee your future, señor."
"i'd rather not know how miserable i'll become," i whispered with a sudden, wierd calmness. and just within seconds i had ran past the next few shops, upwards an old staircase, and past a nearly dead beggar screaming what sounded like my name. or something else in spanish i just couldn't understand.

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