These were fragrant, colorless alcohols served from cut-glass carafes in small glasses and whether they were quetsche, mirabelle or framboise they all tasted like the fruits they came from, converted into a controlled fire on your tongue that warmed you and loosened your tongue.
hi i always lthdrs befre theg do me. the impercetible widening of eyes and small jolt wakes up some mmory in them. while i just watch until it dawns on them. who, when, what, how. rarely do we ask why on ths sma island. the chncaces od rhnnin into somebdh js ridiculoly great, though you migjt say otherwise now tt our popln has exploded and mst are glhed to thir mobile devices.
i ran into these two, my priary school ezt frends, within two weeks of each other. on public trasllrt, on the wy home. it cant be coinidence even thlugh it mjstve been sincd we lived only within a 1km radius of oeach othdr. but what happened to those 12 years in between?
had we manaed to miss the other for more than a decadd? i would tell them, "ive seen yoj a few times on the lrt or on the opl plafform." nonethdless, it feels good to be reconciled.
thse years didnt chnage us much, we're all stil bookworms, lovers of words.
