I was hungry, I was tired, but I had to know about him. If he was dead or not, and if not, if he was okay. When I’m thinking about our first meeting, I can’t imagine something weirder. A tramp sitting in a park, on a bench, and a tired whore who was not able to drive to his block and came to sit near him. It sounds like a very bad plot of a trashy show. Whoopee.

He was there, as always, sitting on his bench. I sighted, eased to see him. The sun was barely up and the English night fog was softly sparkling. I was totally frozen, as always after a cold night of work.

-Hi Alex. said I, trying to calm my shivers.

I sat near his left hand and looked at the park. I’ve always thought that nature was a wonderful spectacle, but this morning, I was particularly impressed by the game between lights and shadows. It’s maybe because of what I’ve heard yesterday evening and that frightened me. And it was confirmed by the front page of the Times I glanced over in passing near a newspaper kiosk during the trip between the brothel and Hyde Park.

-They found a body, I mean a dead body, yesterday on the Thames’s shore. The description they gave of the corpse has made me believing it was yours. Thanks God I was wrong.

I turned to stare at him. He didn’t seem touched in any way by my words. His stoicism has always both overwhelmed and annoyed me. It’s maybe because of his numerous years of vagrancy. He might have seen so much things…  But it makes me feel I’m pissing him off every time I’m speaking with him. Very nice feeling, indeed.

-What’s up since Monday ? I’ve tried to find you on Thursday midday, but you weren’t here. And nor where I can find you normally. Did the cops catch you ?

I know sometimes he’s held in custody, but I’ve never asked him why. I think it’s not my business. If he wants to speak about it, all right, if not, I’m not going to force him to open his mouth and tell me about his life. A wall would be more talkative than him in this case.