The reincarnation of a travelling musketeer keeps me company, involuntarily, while I drink a beer and look at my watch.
There is a comforting feeling in spending time paying attention to common people, who are never so common, after all, because each of them has a story which waits only to be guessed …or simply imagined.
I decided that this man was Porthos, in his older years, who came back to Paris, but was unable to recognize any familiar place, so he had to find his way with the help of a map book.
Sergey should have arrived by now…