Mr. Burman - draft

Life would be much easier if there was a manual you could follow step by step. If it was so, Germans would probably be masters of life’s art because of their sense of rightousness and obsession with the rules. But there isn’t one and sadly for those who like structure, human beings are forced to spend most of their lives trying to figure out the steps they are supposed to follow.

Some of them don’t have these concerns and seem to enjoy life with no guidance. Sometimes that brings them joy, sometimes only worries. But for some people this is a matter of high importance. That was the case of Mr. Burman who used to be a man of great success according to his fellows but whose obsession with time management lead to the most obscure passages of mankind.

Mr Burman was what I would call dark-spirited. The kind of person whose expression would not be softened by the most tender things. He was not always like that. Mr Burman had once had a family that had disappeared under unknown circumstances. Everyone who knew him well would avoid any conversation including this topic. You would think that Allan, for that was his name, was a terrible person. But if you were sensitive enough you could realize that somewhere in his face there had been joy, hidden by the weight of many years of sorrow.  

Children who met him on the street would not hide their fear. He did not look monstruous in any way, but children could see beyond his proper looks and perfectly clean and ironed outfits. Burman was a stranger everywhere he went to. No one knew what may have caused this alienation from human kind. He was always in a hurry, ready for another appointment, his hurried steps that often turned into running made his old leather briefcase swing. You could tell it had been used for much longer than it was supposed to.