I met an
old class mate the other day. In a cafe in the small town where we both grew up,
and where we went to the same school, sat in the same class for several years.
We were
never really close friends. He was a bit of a bragger. His dad’s fancy car, his
uncle’s boxing career, his new electric guitar and his rich record collections
with records brought home from the USA by his sister. In fact, to put it
bluntly, he was a pain in the ass.
We talked
about the old days, of the old friends, what happened to them, et cetera. He
seemed quite sympathetic now. You know, people can change. I couldn’t
help asking, if he remembered how he used to brag about himself.
“Yea! I remember”, he said. “It must have been quite terrible. I realised
later how ridiculous I was. But I have
changed.”
He was home
visiting his old mother. His father had died a few years ago. He was now living
in the big town. Had actually done quite well. A beautiful wife and four kids.
They had just been to the Caribbean for three weeks. Chartered a boat and went
around the islands. It had been difficult getting time off from work, as he was
the only one in the company who had any real understanding of their new market
in China.
I would
have liked to have heard more about it, but he had to leave. His chauffeur was
waiting with the Bentley round the corner. It was only after I had finished my
coffee, that I noticed that his wallet was lying on the floor. It must have
slipped out of his jacket. I picked it up. It was too late to get out in the
street to try to follow him. I opened the wallet to find his address. It was
there on his bus pass.
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