Man, soup, sack, keys

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Just after the waiter brought me the soup a man came into the café. He had a small rucksack and an instrument, hadn’t shaved for some days. Carried himself humbly.

He didn’t order anything but went straight downstairs, where the restrooms are. Shortly afterwards, on his way out, every step an effort not to be noticed. As the door closed behind him he stopped for just a moment on the steps outside, as if he had nowhere to go and needed to make an impromptu decision if he should take a left or a right. I was just about to finish my soup, and noticed how the keys felt a little uncomfortable in my pocket, the housekeys in my pocket.

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