Ever so carefully he takes a few steps to his right, shuffles and moves to his left. His head turns in equal rotation yet there is a slight confusion about him.
His glance catches my glance and he slowly picks up a worn out plastic bag. There’s another one hanging off his other arm. In there he keeps the most wonderful things, he tells me.
A small wallet he shows me, inside there are multiple business cards, their my friends he whispers to me with a certain pride. But not the one you and I have.
With such a cheerful face why wouldn’t he have so many friends, but there is a sadness in him too.
Let me tell you about him. He’s a short man, shorter than me, slim. A cloth loosely covers his head like a turban, wrapped around with no great attention. Fair skin and narrow eyes, his white beard flows down just above his chest.
He mumbles often, it’s hard to make out his words. He suffers from a condition but that doesn’t take away his magic.
Yes, he’s a magician of sorts, he can conjour up the right sorts of words to the One that matters. I’ve seen him talk to the air, but it’s not the air he talks to, I have this feeling he has a direct channel there.
He’ll be OK!
He’ll be saved unlike my own soul which is destined to damnation.
In those brief moments when I stroll to the bronze and black gates with my friend, and he talks to the air I feel sorry for myself. In that same moment I also feel blessed.
Thanks my friend, I never even told you my name.