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Purgatory - Sunday, Feb. 10, 2019
Saturday, May. 31, 2003 @ 1:14 pm
"Do you have a lighter, fire?"
"Would you like a smoke?" he asks, offering an open pack and a siver cased lighter. I give him a look, raised eyebrows.
"It was an excuse to talk to you."
I had been standing on a quay watching the river rush into the stinking briney ocean. The Atlantic. Galway, Ireland. The Atlantic is not as inviting as the pacific, the waves seem longer here, the sands dirty. But that's just because this is not home. It's not the city of glass, there are no cedars.
The man has an accent, it turns out to be Greek. He wears expensive pants and his shoes are shining like in the water off the rushing river. He is short. I look at the situation now, twenty four hours later, and I wonder why I wasn't swept up in the romance of the moment. Rich foreign man approaches girl on grassy quay at sundown.
I endured a lenghty conversation that bounced from topic to topic: the weather, travel, family, accents... He asked me to join him for a cup of coffee, drinks. I had the night wide open empty in front of me. "Ahh, no." What about some wine? I have a fine chianti, back at my apartment. Where are you staying? Surely you can't get a decent nights sleep in a hostel dorm room.
I wonder if he gets all dressed up every night, shines his shoes, and wanders the cobblestone streets looking for love. He looks the part. His hair shining like his shoes, thick dark hair and dark eyes, the accent too.
I walk off alone, past the street musicians and the old city walls. This town hums and whirrs, I like it, and it would be even more magical if someone where here to share it with.