I Am Not Political

I started wandering through the streets imagining things that could happen on our date. I was lost in my thought when, to my utter disbelief, I found myself in front of the store where I went to buy milk some twenty years ago. In no time I was there inside the place. Almost everything about it had changed, but I still saw the same old pictures in front of me. One moment I was in the middle of the protestors: another moment I was hit on the head with a baton lying unconscious on the street.

“Good day sir,” said the storekeeper bringing me back to the real world. I took a quick at him; the same guy some twenty years older. It was as if I was travelling back in time. Having my eyes fixed on him I left the store without say a word. I started going in the direction of our old home. The route I had thought of for all those years in prison and didn’t want to take one more time. Then I was there, in front of the house I used to live in twenty years ago.

I didn’t hesitate to ring the bell. A little while later a window on the second floor opened and a young woman asked me who I was looking for.