Once again we had decided to make an appointment in order to discuss how events had progressed since the previous time we had met.
Mutual goals, comparing, the differences between then and now. Had it already been nearly one year ago? Maybe more.
When I arrived at the meeting place, the smell of damp wood and uncertain swirls on the floor, I was surprised to be confronted with a visage that had aged much more than the year that had passed. Was this the same person or not?
During the meeting before, he had confessed to me in a confidential moment between silences that although he had not aged for many many years, the next year would bring forth an acceleration of growing older, more and more quickly. Nothing to be concerned about. Or not?
I took my seat next to him and we shook hands. Just let it be. The dying part was about to begin.
Alright then, so let's discuss how events had progressed, the objectives we had predefined and described so clearly on paper, how far each of us had been able to proceed.
When he ripped the pen out of my hand I thought he was about to draw down something meaningful, say on one of the two yellowish napkins lying between us, but that was not to be.
Instead, he used the pen as a kind of pointer, aimed at the most upper left-hand corner of the room, saying nothing for a minute and then uttering something I couldn't quite understand.
I said that the next time we meet it will have to be in this same place, and then we will finally have something meaningful to discuss.
Alright, see you next year. Or even later perhaps.