Today I took a bus to work.

I see him almost every time I ride the bus. A man, always dressed in the same green parka, receding hair, wide face with big eyes, always carrying the same black bag. And a paperback.

No matter which season, whether it`s sunny or snowing, he`s always riding the bus, reading a book. English paperbacks, fiction mostly, worn-out yet pretty well maintained.

He never rides the bus in company, always alone, just him and the paperbacks.

I don`t know where he`s from or where is he going. I usually get off before him. Seeing his face, his eyes moving across the pages of the book, as I walk off. A man and his books.

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