Face behind the bars
There's a place where I go periodically to pay an account; I tender my paper side of the transaction. It is always snatched by an efficient hand from the other side of the grid or grill or whatever the protection barrier is called. Yesterday I looked at the snatcher. He needs no protection. He is grey of skin and bald of head and devoid of human emotions. He raises a lack- lustre eye, scans a hanging list on his side of the fence and with an unerring precision subtracts the discount. Now, I don't expect him to kiss me through the bars, not at all, but I would like him (for his own sake) to be pleased to see some of us. He was there when the world began, or one painfully like him. They all grow to a type. Life loses its savour, and I tell you about him so that you will still feel happy that your lot is cast in wide open spaces and you can get "what life requires" without growing into a shrivelled, caged up -
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