I was quietly reading the newspaper in a coffee shop when an old man came up, and sat down next to me without my permission.
   ”There are a lot of clouds in the sky today. I've never really liked this aspect of the sky.” He contemplated the sky, looking sad. The same sad look as a small child who has lost a toy. The same sad look as a mother whose son has gone to war. Then, he added,“The same sad look as an old man remembering the good old days.”
   ”What ! How ? How did you know ? How did you know I was thinking that in my head ?” I exclaimed.
   ”I know everything about you,” he answered.
   ”Who are you ?”I shouted, looking terrified.
   ”Who I am is not what matters to us now. The fact is, you gave up your dream of becoming a writer to become a teacher who talks to students about the beauty of writing and encourages them to write every day. What has become of your writer's soul, Kevin?”asked the old man, with a very serious look on his face.
I was completely shocked. How can this man know so much about me and my life? He was talking to me as if he had known me all my life.
   ”Let me read my newspapers in peace, please,”I replied.
   ”Answer my question,”he ordered.
   ”I've never been able to finish a story in my life. I always had good ideas and a very good imagination, but I wasn't persistent at all. I'd always say to myself, "Nobody's going to like what I write, so I might as well erase it,”I admitted.
   ”Let me tell you this: in a parallel world, you're famous for your writings. In this world you've chosen the easier way, the way of renunciation, and look what you’ve become.”
   ”What ? In a parallel world ? What are you talking about ? Who are you, old man ?” I insisted.
He rose, looked at the sky one last time, and added before disappearing, "That wasn't the right question.”