Earlier, he used to read a lot and write, too.
Then, he started travelling from town to town, selling flints for cigarette lighters, matches, lottery tickets, second hand books displayed on pavements, belts displayed around his neck, water as “weeping water” and tambourines as “a must for every household”. The job he did longest, shoe-shining, was also his last job. Just as when he was writing he would be at his desk every morning at the same time, he was at his shoe shine box in Beyoğlu at the same time every morning.
Later, old and crippled, he was no longer wanted at home. Though it was a struggle, he kept going up to the Grand Rue de Pera (Beyoğlu). He lay on the pavement on his back resting his head on a ledge, watching the passers–by, watching their shoes. He remembered watching football matches in the underground stands of the stadium, looking out at the level of the players’ boots. When groups of people walked past him down the street, shouting slogans, he remembered the celebration walks after his team had won.
One day, a young man from one of these groups came over, asking how he was and if there was anything he needed. They shared a meal. The young man told him about the walk. He listened and understood. He didn’t tell him what is written here. Nor what isn’t.