Looking for Shachaf

“I’m looking for my brother.”

The man on the bench stared at Zamir as though he were speaking another language. If Zamir hadn’t seen him speaking and listening in this language just the day before, he would have thought he’d gotten the wrong man. For man it was, despite the feathers which grew from his skull in place of hair.

“Shachaf. I know you worked with him. I’ve seen you talk before.”

The standstill held a moment longer, before the avian man broke out in a wide grin. His teeth were impossibly crooked. “Looking for the person who does the looking?”

Zamir sighed. Why had Shachaf dealt with such people all the time?

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