I entered the class this morning. WB sat on his usual place: around the corner, a respectable position for someone not very popular among his classmates.
Patrisius: “W, you just celebrated your birthday, right?”
WB: “Sorry, Sir?”
Patrisius: “You have just had your birthday. Right?”
WB: “Oh, yeah,” (looking nonplussed). Well, I never put a great importance on any day.”
Patrisius: “Oh, really?”
WB: “Yeah. What’s special about birthdays?”
Patrisius: “Oh, yeah, I know some people like you would rather see this life as one big shit. But to me, my birthday is always important. That day signifies the fact that there is something, or someone, who never ceases taking care of me. And for that I need to be grateful.”