He appeared to be an ordinary guy. The kind whose dull life story could fit on a single sheet of paper. Perhaps the only thing that set him apart from others were the shirts with the inscription: THE LEGENDARY MAN.

His father once had a stall at the market and wanted to dazzle the entire universe with those shirts. Something went wrong, and he ended up with a warehouse full of those colorful T-shirts.

The boy never talked to us about it, and we felt too embarrassed to ask. To us, he was simply The Legendary Man. Without delving too deeply into the past.

We used to hang out at his place because his mother didn't seem to mind. She lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, waiting for a change in fate or some sign from her tragically deceased husband. Their dog mostly barked out of frustration because once, in a fit of rage, he bit off his own paw, and now he regretted it. And we played records and debated the reality surrounding us.

The only extraordinary thing was that The Legendary Man had dreams about what life would be like if certain things had never happened. He would share these dreamed-up stories with us over a beer, and somehow, it all seemed to fit so nicely with those shirts of his.