Dozing one afternoon, upon my rocking chair, I woke to the sound of a beggar’s call. He stood in front of me, this man dressed in rags, with bright eyes and a half smile upon his face.

“Where are you going?”, I asked him, at once realising, that it was hardly the question to ask a beggar, simply passing through.

He laughed, paused a while, and then spoke, in a low voice, that somehow conveyed a sense of urgency. “We arrive at the very same destination”, he said. “Working all your life to stay comfortable, what will you do when the train pulls in, at our final destination? What cosy blanket would you pull, to keep your lifeless body, from catching fire?”.

“What a spoil sport, this man!”, I thought. “He has robbed me of the pleasure of my rocking chair, this beggar, simply passing through!”