Mr Jones

It was in the first week in February this year that I first met Mr Jones.

He sat quietly in one of the three chairs we have in the outer office/reception areas for visitors. He smiled broadly when I turned off the radio on my Mac and went out to meet him.

He was well dressed in a white shirt and a blue paisley tie, faded brown suit. He had a little tie pin which struck me as unusual and rare nowadays.

He was neat but could not be described as a natty dresser. His suit was too faded and his shoes too scuffed for that description.

He was a small man, below average height, thin with leather, tightly drawn, dark, weather beaten skin. I’d say he was only five feet six inches, or thereabouts and sitting on the ground between his legs was a plastic Dunnes Stores carrier bag.

I was afraid the bag was full of papers. My worst fears were realised when I brought him into my office and invited him to take a seat.

‘What can I do for you Mr Jones?’

‘You won’t believe my story, Mr Gorry, but I can assure you it is true’.

With that he put the Dunnes Stores bag up on the table at which we were both seated and disgorged its contents.

‘Here it is, 30 years of papers and documents to support my story’, he said.

‘Ok, can you give me a brief synopsis first?’, I asked.

And so, he told me, for the first time, one of the most remarkable, fascinating stories I had ever heard.

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