TABITHA RAE

bright lipstick and an open face. Whose name started with a V. She invited me into her art showing with broken English but a lot of laughter. She complimented my straight teeth but made sure I knew she "liked men." When I didn’t take a candy she hit my butt. The visit lasted about six minutes. V called me “simpatica” when I said my goodbyes.

I MET AN OLD LADY FROM POLAND WITH

HERE

WE ARE AGAIN.

Here we are again, eating, sitting in the dark. Cheering erupts when the power comes back on. Roars coming from one little section on the tiny tropical island. The electricity rotates around the island at night like a game of musical chairs.  You're walking, shopping, one guy was getting a tattoo-- and the next second you're in utter, middle of the ocean darkness. But Locals and visitors combined treat it like a game -- as one can only do. It's a game of tag, of musical chairs, another reason to smile with the Thai people.

The scrubbed stone colors. The habits of the people. The specific grocery store check out -- beep. beep. beep. I recognized how the old ladies cut their hair; it was all shockingly consuming this part of me I didn't know I had, or had put away.  I love these overcast yet muggy days that you walk through on your way into town. I smile at the dirty seagulls and the weight of my coin purse.

I NEVER EXPECTED IT
TO FEEL SO FAMILIAR.

"WATCH THE DOOR,

watch the door!” I whispered as we crept onto the barn floor. We had pulled over, choosing this specific one -- because it was in the town of “Bud,” an ode to my late grandfather. We really were tired; after the fjords and the snowball fights and the waterfalls and the one way skinny stone bridge roads. After all the singing and all the laughing ( all the laughing)… we decided to break into a barn and sleep inside only because we spontaneously wanted to. Norway wouldn't mind the two of us cuddling up for the night, drinking our gas station coffee.

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