It was a Saturday night. The streets were busy with shoppers and party people. The city bustled with various movements and noises.
A local bookstore in front of a park was holding a signing event. Curious onlookers and avid readers walked in. Best-seller poet, Arye Anderson, was signing his most recent collection. People stood in a line to see him.
He wasn't exactly fond of the idea of being the center of attention, he wished to just write in the comfort of his room without having to meet with anyone.
But he had a bread to win. It had been fifteen years since his suicide attempt. A lot had changed, and he felt grateful for being alive.
He had no idea why would anyone find his obscure poetry worth reading, let alone to go as far as to meet him in person.
He didn't know how to deal with being recognized, but he surely didn't hate it.
He was about to take a break when a man in a black suit stepped forward, a book in his hand, he said "I'm a fan of yours, Mr. Anderson." The voice was one Arye could never forget.
An eternal reminder of his sins.
He answered him as he met his ever piercing gaze "I'm flattered. What's your favorite poem ?"
"well, that should be The Man With The Marble Eyes."
The End.
