NEPHART.COM

He irons the same checked shirt every morning

pours his tea before the city wakes

steps outside

and the world loses its mind

Phones appear from nowhere

Hands reach

Someone wants a photograph

Someone wants his signature

on the back of a biscuit wrapper

He obliges gently

the way a man does

when he doesnt want to be rude

Then catches his bus

He is not running from anything

He is not going anywhere important

Just the office

just the same desk

just Tuesday

But they follow him

down the high street

past the corner shop

past the pub that opens too early

filming every ordinary step

like it holds a secret

Maybe it does

There is something about a man

who is not performing happiness

that makes people stop

Who eats his lunch without checking

if anyone is watching

Who laughs at something small

a pigeon

a wrong change

a word he mispronounced

and doesnt explain himself

They call him remarkable

He calls it Thursday

He goes home

Leaves his shoes at the door

Puts the kettle on

before hes even taken his coat off

And sits

in the particular silence

of a man who needs nothing more

not knowing

that this

exactly this

is what they were all

trying to photograph