So now the umbrella sits by my door again. I don’t know if I should return it. He clearly doesn’t want it. But it was never mine. And yet, in some strange way, it is.
I told myself: “Anastase, someone forgot it. If you leave it here, the old man will throw it away by closing time. You’re not stealing. You’re... rescuing.” blogul anastase
Five years ago, almost to the day. A Tuesday. I was at the "La Scuar" coffee shop, the one with the creaky floorboards and the old man who always reads the same newspaper twice. I had finished my espresso, paid with the last coins in my pocket, and stood by the door like a fool, watching the downpour thrash the pavement. So now the umbrella sits by my door again