The postman was coming back now and the couple were still standing there, by the car, their goodbye still unfinished. The girl was slim and tall, her bag thrown over her shoulder, car keys in her hand, her eyes sympathetic and patient. The man was short and pudgy, unattractive, weak, his eyes red and wet.
As the postman passed them by, the man was saying: “Please, baby, don’t go, please, baby.”
The postman wanted to be young and attractive, so that there was a chance this girl, now free, would fall into his arms somewhere in a club or a restaurant, eventually. But then he felt sorry for his brother man.
The postman continued on his way.