The Vagrant

“That woman who approached you a while ago, I know her,” said the vagrant. He was biting his lower lips and moving his eyes between my face, to my bag, then to my trousers’ front pockets.

“That so? What do you know about her?”

He smirked and cleared his throat still taking glances at the bag hanging from my shoulder. “Can I－”

“No.” I did not let him finish what he wanted to say. I knew what it was. He would ask for money. If he could divulge some information on what he knew about the woman, I might be generous to hand him a coin.

“I－I didn’t really know her, but I saw her talking to a guy at the corner of Palerno before he talked to you. The guy－I know him.”I did not show interest to his story to encourage him to talk more. I’m reversing his mental flow. People like him were too stupid to play the game of life much less to fathom the meaning of men’s intricate actions. I was interested to know who the guy was, but I kept my silence.