Looking for Lunch

After leaving this idyllic place, I continued my journey along a long, dusty road, pitted with pot-holes that streched far into the distance.  Eventually, I was able to discern an object far in the distance that might just be moving-or was it just my imagination?  I continued, weighing the thoughts that I had thought at breakfast, and going over why I was going where I was going, and why I was going there.  I was thinking about why anybody goes anywhere and what their reasons for going there are, as well as their real reasons for going there, their inner reasons-my inner reason for going on my journey, my real journey.

It was at this point, thinking about my inner reason for my journey, when I stepped into a small hole, losing my thoughts just as I thought I was on the point of a revalation.  I stopped, cleared my head, and saw that the object I had seen, was only a few hundred metres ahead of me.  "It" was an old man, with a slight limp and a cast on his right arm.  He was wearing new clothes, made of well-crafted, faultlessly made material, that must have cost a fortune.  He walked with the swagger of one who has only recently found himself to be important, and has not yet found that it is a swagger that gives an automaticly bad impression to anyone who is "below" his new-found position of importance, to those "above", it is just seen as ridiculous.  His receeding hair was set in a simple style, slightly ruffled by the wind.

He looked at me and I realized that here was my chance, here was my oppurtunity to rid myself of my burden.  These selfish thoughts were soon dispelled, but he looked at me quizzically, as if I had done something unexpected.

I went straight to him, and my purposeful walk made him stop, and stand back to get an asessment of my appearance, as if he were afraid that I would try to rob him in this desolate place.

"Would you know a certain Lennie Small, or perhaps a certain George Milton by any chance?", I asked.

"Why are you asking me this?", he demanded, immediately suspiscious.  So he DID know Lennie.

"I am representing one of Lennie's relatives, who wants to see him-urgently."

"I am afraid that is totally impossible-and would this relative be his 'Aunt Clara'?"

"No, but she is highly involved in the matter which brings me here, and she is a  very close relation a relative of Lennie's that I am currently representing", I told him, getting more and more curious about how much this chance stranger knew about Lennie Small.

"And may I ask who this relative might be?", he inquired.

"I am afraid I cannot reveal this relative's name to you, but where is Lennie, and why can't I see him?"

"Well...he's dead"

"Dead?  That can't be!"  But I looked into his eyes and saw that it was true.

"And George...what about him?"

"Ahh, that's easy, I'll take you to him if needs be-is it important?"

"Very."

"Let's go then." he said.

"No-just take this to George", said I, handing him the envelope.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, goodbye."

"Er...goodbye", he said, suddenly not looking so sure of himself.