"Tony!"
As Twain got rid of the reporters and walked to the parking lot, he heard someone calling his name behind his back. When Twain stopped in his tracks and turned to look back, he saw a familiar face.
By the side of the boulevard, under the lush trees, Michael Bernard stood in the mottled light and shadow. When the wind blew, the leaves rustled, and the light and shadow moved along, making him look rather indistinct as if he were a phantom.
"Your camouflage came in useful, Michael. If you hadn't called me, I could barely see you."
Twain walked over and smiled at Michael, who was standing under the trees.
"Camouflage?" "Michael did not react at first until he looked down at the mottled shadows on his body and then realized it really looked like a camouflage costume...
He laughed. Twain's joke made him feel warmth.
"Why are you back here? Don't you have to work?"
"I quit my job," Michael said to Twain with a serious look.
