a spy

Every morning I see this guy
standing at the same bus stop as I am,
waiting for a same bus as I am.

He always wears a perfectly fitted suit,
carries an expensive leather briefcase.

His eyes are always hiding behind the sunglasses,
even when it is raining,
always looking at some undefined spot.


Always on time.

I call him “a spy”.

I am sure nobody cares about him,
but I was always curios about what does he do.

This morning I learned
that he always takes this bus
to the mental clinic
where he receives his treatments every day.

Now I am wandering what people may think of me,
while I am standing at the bus stop
and flapping my wings of silver and bronze
from time to time.


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