How are you?

What do I put into my time with you all?

 

A seat at the back of a plane, every head of hair in front of me, black.

A banquet, where the guests include the town police chief and several local gangsters.

Food which could still move.

Faces of friends, moments after witnessing a Christmas Eve drowning,

Days long train rides.

Bloodied guitar strings.

Tears.

Head hanging from speeding taxis.

Motherly restaurant owners.

Drinking away hangovers.

Singing songs for locals.

Distance and time.

 

These are all there when we are together. Not that we talk of them. How could we? Most days we don’t get past ‘how are you? But these things are all there all the same. And I wish I could go back.

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