Kino

Long slow dusk and billowing clouds in the twilight. A tram in another direction, a bed in another neighborhood, we climb the bridge, and across the water familiar hills stretch west towards the sea. It is breathtaking.

The bar is quiet, Monday night quiet, we nestle in along the counter and catch up. Mere weeks have passed, entire lives have up and overed like eggs flipped in Sunday morning frying pans for breakfast the kind that lasts for hours. Words flow in, out, exploding laughter and profound sentiment trickle between rounds. This is friendship.

I am tired of talking of myself.
These are the people who matter.