We'd collect supplies from a shop on the corner near our apartment, and he would remember our names, and if he didn't he'd call us 'red' or 'fella'. Hundreds of shaggy dog tales and fables stored in his mind, happy to share them all, and at length, to whoever wanted listen.
Its just a shame he never told us his name, or even offered it, for that matter. I remember on the last day, before flying back to England, he looked straight through me, as though we had never spoke, and I was a stranger.
