Marcos knocks on the door of a rustic village house. He had expected more from the pharmacist’s house, thinking that, since the man is wealthy, he would live in some kind of palace. But no. It’s just an ordinary village house. At least from the outside...
The man who had been working in the garden is now working in the street, where Marcos is. He pulls weeds from the façades. Marcos sees him and greets him. The man returns the greeting with a big smile. Marcos now notices that from here, he can see the abandoned single-family homes. No one opens the door; it seems they didn’t hear him. Marcos knocks loudly again. After a few moments, a young man dressed in a corduroy jacket, pants, and a cotton shirt opens the door as much as the security chain allows and looks Marcos up and down.
“Can I help you with something?” the young man asks from behind the door.
“Hi! Is the pharmacist here?”
“That’s me.”
“Oh, sorry... you look so young that...” Marcos says nervously.
“It’s okay, you’re not the first to say that. What do you need?” the pharmacist replies, conciliatory.
Marcos smiles in relief.
