A man, standing beside me on a bus stop checking his watch.
He looks nervous, and he is probably late from work or school, he checks his watch again.
People around me are talking different languages instead of the blank old Finnish.
I can hear Spanish, german and French.
The man is probably from France, judging by his clothing and eyes.
There is a different shine in the eyes of Frenchmen, happy little glint.
Even though the glint in his eyes is shadowed by his wrinkled eyebrows.
Two young men, both from France, on the other side of the glass wall on the roofed bus stop;
They are wearing berets, and the other one of them is holding a French Loaf.
Playful smiles lingering on their faces, they are playing with the irony, that's how Finns see them - or at least used to see.
I smile to their backs and and one of them, the one with a red beret, notices me and wrinkles his eyebrows.
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