Echoes of the right thing to do

The view from the street of one of the bars that people mostly frequented in the evenings or later kept the focus on a man sitting at the window, wearing a tax inspector's uniform. Cal, passing by, of course, couldn't help but notice the conspicuous jacket he was wearing. Looking closer, he saw a familiar face, a face reflecting sadness and despair. This man was neither friend nor foe, the only thing he knew about him, about this inspector, was that he was a decent man.

Over the bar door on the inside hung something like a bell, announcing the arrival of another guest. Coming to the table where the inspector was sitting, Cal stood waiting to be noticed, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

- Good afternoon, Inspector," Cal said, standing in the same place. He lifted his head, and with one of his fingers, which was clutching a glass with an alcoholic drink, pointed to the seat opposite him.

- If you need something, and even if you don't, go where you're going.