Old Bill
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Old Bill
There was this guy who used to hang around near my house, always lingering by the corner shop or shuffling near the car park. He was scruffy, always in the same oversized clothes, and his eyes had a vacant but oddly familiar kindness. I knew he had some kind of special needs, but he was harmless enough.
Every time I saw him, he asked me the same three questions:
“Do you think it’s going to rain?”
“Where are you going?”
“How’s the family?”
Every single time, without fail. His voice was slow, deliberate, like he was reciting something important. I always answered politely, though he never responded to my questions. He would just mumble something and shuffle away.
This went on for years…
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