TEHRAN -- Whenever I went out, I had to see him sitting morosely on the stairs just in front of me. Even turning the key in the keyhole didn't persuade him to stand up, to let me pass by. My shoes always bumped into his shoulder as I stepped over him.

Stepping into the real estate agency, I said, "Can we mend fences? We are going to be your neighbors!" He looked at me and gave an unfriendly reply.

I might have given him a dirty look. The strong fat man was not very old, maybe about 45, with a puffy face and wrinkled clothes. It seemed as if he had not slept for several nights.

His beard was completely white and his lips seemed not to smile at all.

I thought that his anxiety was due to not concluding the house contract in his real estate agency, something that would be forgotten in the future, but this was the beginning of the adventure. Whenever I untied my shoe laces, I whispered, "Stubborn old man! It doesn't matter. Be patient, you will see that I'll go to you, you, yourself to extend the contract."

But renewing the contract was impossible. The landlord had told me to leave. All right, we are tenants not owners.

I don't know why I feel bad these days? I'm absentminded as if something bad has happened.

Oh! It is surely not due to the so much hard work, I know. It may be because of the old man's absence. I did not see him sitting on the stairs and obstructing my path for three days.

There was a torn funeral advertisement glued to the wall near his shop, nothing was clear in particular. Maybe it was for the poor old man. God forgive us.