The stranger beckons me.
“Who is this dishevelled man? What does he want?”
I wonder but yet I approach him.
He asks me to show him my palm.
“I don’t believe in palmistry, my man.”
“What else could it be?”, I think.
He is not to be fobbed off.
“Show me your palm!”, he commands in a deep voice.
“I am not interested. I don’t retain faith in astrology either.”
And hands me his bag.
“Hold it for me. I’ve got to run. Bags are not allowed where I’m going.”
He disappears into the adjacent public latrine.