D.

D. has a sad but interesting life. He was a very close family friend of T., a Muslim antique dealer, the same dealer from whom I purchased my one-meter-tall porcelain Kwan Yin. T. passed away in 2009, after which D. began courting L., T.'s widow. D. faithfully stayed with L. and her children through her stroke, which left her half-paralyzed, and through her rehabilitation.

Unfortunately, T.'s son, T2, became a drug addict after losing his father and became a father himself at the age of 15. Now separated from his girlfriend, T2 has gone through a lot of odd jobs, including waitering and working as a grocery boy. D. loves T2 as though he were his own son. T2 slightly improved but, at the present time, seems to have regressed to his old ways.

D. sells antiques via L.'s former contacts. The items are of good quality. Some of them are from private excavations, plus a few rare talismans (I own and have photographed those that I acquired from him). This morning I gave him a bag for his personal use and two antique paintings to sell for himself, though he insists that he will keep the paintings and hang them on his wall.

It's just quite heartbreaking to see him slowly trudging up and down the streets with his ware.

I should have taken him to lunch at M.'s cafe, but the idea occurred to me only after he'd gone.