Sasha me deja

All day Thursday I saw Sasha wandering around the station with a short, fat, bald, fedora-wearing gypsy guy, whom I assumed was a Czech punter. He didn't notice me once.

Later in the evening, he and the old man sat down across from me on one of the benches outside the station. Sasha saw me, smiled and winked, then brought the old guy over.

Then he introduced the man as his father.

Dad told . . .

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