1690

"Caspar", says Stella. He doesn't answer. He has covered his head with his hoodie and his head is bowed almost down to his lap so that no one can see his face. "Caspar", she repeats, and I notice a slight tremor in his body. Now he is convulsing. "Caspar, what can we do to help." For my part, while my phone is ringing in my front pocket, I cannot imagine that he could be more than twenty years old. He raises lhimself up and removes the hood. Tears are streaming down his face. He is composing himself. It is a call from the mental health team. I have to take it. "You don't know what I did to him", says Caspar, as I step away from the table in order to take this call...