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You see something special about him.

. /=====================================================
. | |
. | ... this incessant stubborn dying<color>, |
. | this living death<color>, |
. | that slays you, oh God<color>, |
. | in your rigorous handiwork, |
. | in the roses<color>, in the stones<color>, |
. | in the indomitable stars<color>, |
. | and in the flesh<color> that burns<color> out<color>, |
. | like a bonfire lit by a song<color>, |
. | a dream<color>, |
. | a hue<color> that hits the eye. |
. | |
. | <color> ... and you, yourself<color>, |
. | perhaps have died eternities of ages out there, |
. | without us knowing about it, |
. | we dregs<color>, crumbs<color>, ashes<color> of you<color>; |
. | <color> you<color> that still are present, |
. | like a star<color> faked<color> by its very light, |
. | an empty<color> light without star |
. | that reaches us, |
. | hiding |
. | its infinite catastrophe... |
. | |
. | There is no death<color> for us: no hell<color>: no resolution<color>:. <color>|
. | Only the<color> essence<color> split and folded from the essence<color>,<color>|
. | <color> Halving<color>, and, again, halving<color>. <color>|
. | Till strength<color> and intellect<color> lie shared into dust<color>, <color>|
. | Too small to think<color>, remember<color> or compute<color>: <color>|
. | Pinhead specks of hatred<color>, loss<color> and sorrow <color>|
. | Where half-words from a lifetimes memory echo. <color>|
. | Now silence<color> pits dark<color> against nothing<color>. <color>|
. | Weight renews forever. <color>|
. | |
. ==================================================== / <color>

There is a man sitting by the side of the road singing an enchanting tale of a warrior fighting a dragon.
as you walk by he says 'excuse me, you dropped this', and he hands your coin purse to you.
'You must be more careful, there are more unscrupulus types on these roads who would not have returned this' he says.