“I hate this city,” he said. I looked aghast at him. “How can you when everybody who comes here never wants to go anywhere else?” I asked.
He got up, gave me a fierce look and walked away.
Had I done anything wrong?
I was new to the place and just trying to make polite conversation, perhaps trying to get to know him better. After all he would be my family too.
I turned around to find a neighbour look at me knowingly, come over and sit down at the just-vacated space.
“What do you expect?”
“He has no one here. No family. No friends.”
He gestured, “he has built a cocoon around himself.”
“He is a prisoner of his own making,” I said.
Why doesn’t he open up? Why doesn’t he talk to people instead of snarling at them ferociously, ready to bite their heads at innocuous remarks just as he had done.