Runner 3

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My name's Simon.

While busking around Spain, I stayed a while at a villa in a cactus riddled town called Castella De La Plana. The house was populated with miscreants and vagrants from across Europe, all working on the orange plantations owned by the Mafia.

Here, I met an odd and beautiful man named Dwielio. The oddest thing about him was that he had no nationality. At 16, when applying for a passport in his then native Hungary, he was told that his dead father was not a Hungarian national. This made him an illegal immigrant and he was deported. So began a lifetime of deportations from any country he found himself sojourning in.

When I met him, he was in his early 50's and travelled with few possessions save a large collection of rare fossils he'd gathered along his way. He found work as a farm labourer and when he did he was obsessed with his "output". He spoke like a poet, of the "green stars" and though seemingly frail he once outpaced me on a 4 mile run to the sea.

In our villa, we counted 24 different languages. Dwielio could speak fluently to everyone in their own tongue. I'd like to speak to him again some time.