Man sitting in front of me at the airport, working on his computer, breakfast trash on the table. No coffee.

His name is Antonio. Antonio is from South America. Presumably from a country with an artistic and unique accent. Presumably, he’s from Argentina.

Antonio types away on his computer trying to figure out the next step for his surf company. He surfs. Presumably, you surf in Argentina.

His girlfriend is just as pretty as he is. He glances at his phone with a smirk on his face. He likes his girlfriend, he likes other women too. He’s okay with cheating, morally. Presumably, she knows nothing.

His business trip to South California was successful, and he met many providers and “provideresses.” He is a refreshed man and he is ready to go home for Valentine’s Day. Presumably, he celebrates Valentines Day.

Antonio is an otherwise “good” person. He has one younger brother, too young to really understand him and too young to really care. His father was great, once upon a time and his mother is perfect. He loves his mother. Presumably, she loves him too.

Antonio’s stubbly face characterizes his laid back personality. Slightly shy, yet not lacking confidence. Not quite an observer, not quite the opposite. Just there. Apart from the feeling of satisfaction he gets from riding the waves of the sea, he seldom feels satisfaction. Presumably, he seldom feels anything remotely moving, at all.

Antonio just is. Like this moment as he sits in front of my he just is. He exists, now, in my mind. Presumably, thinking or not thinking about the truths in his life.

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