He had a black coat and spiked hair, the boy in the tram. With his nice red shoes on he preferred standing next to the door instead of taking the empty seat next to me. Weird.

But then it happened. Just before the doors of the tram had closed he quickly pulled a paper handkerchief from his pocket en threw it out the closing doors.

He did this again at the next stop. And again. And again. This ritual repeated itself until the 11th stop where I sneezed so loudly that everybody looked at me scared.

This also distracted the boy in such a way he threw the handkerchief too late and it bounced off the door before landing on the floor. He looked at me quite mad and started to smile.

At the following stops he didn't throw any handkerchief. Just as suddenly as he started, he now had stopped. I guess he didn't have any more.

A little later I got out. The door closed behind me almost immediately. But not before a handkerchief hit me in the back off the head. I looked round and saw the boy riding away smiling.

I picked up the handkerchief, opened it and read:

[dutch for 'hit']
I found it flattering he saved his last handkerchief for me. But personally I had saved it for the fat woman in the red coat.