I do not know who he is. Not even know his name. But I know a lot about him. I know in which countries have lived, how are their relationships with their parents, how long have not seen her children, how he likes the morning, which prefers cold to heat, he likes to meet all kinds of people who do not qualify people in general, but individually, not judge countries by some of its inhabitants. I know he likes and dislikes about the people here look at you with some prevention as a foreigner. That's why I like to talk with me because I'm not here. I know that you shower in the morning, although this has told me, this I know because it is the best man on the bus smells, smells like a mixture of gel and cologne. I also know where it is and not told me, but you do not, no more to hear him speak. I do not know who he is. Not even know his name. He does not know who I am or what my name, but every morning when he arrives at the bus stop greets me, do a couple of comments about the weather (for it every morning are nice, but really is night and closed chuzos falling edge) and then tells me about him, his life. And it happens in a natural way and ends when the bus arrives. We never sit together, not keep talking during the ride when the bus arrives we parted wishing us a good day (he actually me wants to "have a nice day") and each is dedicated to reading our books. I do not know who he is or what it's called, but the man from the bus becomes empty waiting times into small novels.
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