The pale and gaunt young man sat opposite me on the train, coughing every now and then and sniffing nervously.
The book he was reading was an elderly copy of the Odyssey. As he stood to depart, I saw the binding had given way and the last half of the book was still resting on the seat.
"Don't you want to know what happens in the end?" I said, gesturing towards the brittle and yellowed paper.
"No. I've dreamt the end already. Keep it"
I going to miss these little moments of surreality when my car arrives on Tuesday.
So what am I going do with the last half of the Odyssey?
