The old guy was down by the bins again this morning; I hadn’t seen him for a long time and I told him so.
‘I’ve seen you though’ he replied.
That was a little unsettling, but I let it ride and set about smashing bottles in the bottle bank.
“Do you want this suitcase?” He suddenly asked.
“I don’t know; do I want this suitcase? I replied, genuinely unsure. I hadn’t planned a suitcase event that day, or any time soon.
‘It’s a nice suitcase,” he explained and held it up for me to see.
It was still early in the morning and the rays of the rising sun bathed the suitcase in a providential glow.
It was a classic suitcase, not old, not new – timeless. A simple chequer pattern the corners reinforced with metal supports and a handle that looked like a type of late Bakelite.
“It’s made for travelling”, he said.
‘I like travelling”, I mumbled. I was mumbling because I was thinking. It was a nice suitcase; clean, compact and with an air of expectation which was difficult to define.
“It needs a sticker”, he said as I took it from his hands to inspect.
“And initials’.
“I have some initials “, I said, perhaps unnecessarily.
But much of the morning so far had been unnecessary.
“Here, take this”. The old boy handed me something.
I put the suitcase down on the floor, next to my feet as if I was waiting for the bus and opened the packet he had given me.
Inside were three stickers.
Stickers like you would see on the side of a suitcase well-travelled.
The first said San Francisco and had an image of the Golden Gate Bridge at sunset.
The second said New York, I love You.
The third was an image of a geyser gushing with the legend Iceland.
I looked at the old Boy, but he was nowhere to be seen.
I looked at the suitcase and I saw the initials T.A. engraved next to the Bakelite handle.
I looked up and the bus door opened.