“Are any of you of ethiopian?”

And I look around at my newfound friends.

No.  I don’t reckon so.

“Let’s go around the corner.”

It’s probably not the best of ideas.  So of course we do.  And we learn tales of russian speaking ethiopians.   In a night that I don’t expect.  In a train of words that I don’t understand.  Probably because I don’t speak russian.  But one of us does.  And there are travel books and late night slices of pizza.  Devoured.

But no that came before.  But know that came before.

An old repetition.

But what came after?

“Are those Reeses peanut butter cups?”

And the two men on the bench look up.

The man falls drunkenly into a bed of flowers.  For a moment, he thinks that perhaps he has fallen in love.  But perhaps he has just fallen.

“You can have one.” The man stops and reaches into the bag remembering.  And he asks himself,

“Has it been a year already?”

He jumps up and he clicks his heels in the air.

AND HE JUMPS UP AND HE CLICKS HIS HEELS IN THE AIR.

And then he soberly remembers home.

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