I was 18 and had just got into university. I met this 40-something-year-old guy who was also a freshman. He was a bit eccentric and very intelligent. He was taking dramaturgy.
We only spoke a few times but he seemed nice. I don’t remember much of our conversations but I remember him once telling me something like, “You’re a nice girl, there’s just one thing I don’t like about you: you smoke joints.” I laughed.
One morning, before class, I found him and a friend of mine talking in the lobby. I went to say hello and we spoke a little. After a few minutes he left and my friend told me what they were talking about.
He told him that he was once an heroin addict and had been clean for a while. He had chronic hepatitis. That morning he woke up feeling depressed and could only think about getting a hit. While riding the metro he passed the stop where he used to get it, but kept going and went to school instead.
I never saw him again.
About 8 years later – not too long ago, actually – I dreamed about him. In my dream we bumped into each other on the street by chance and talked for a little bit. He told me he had decided to get away for a while and had been traveling all these years.