I wonder how Mr Communist is doing.
We had Starbucks together after photography at Benjamin Sheares; he showed me his carefully compiled book of photographs - lovingly bound with related poetry on the alternate pages. And we chatted. About the local - and in his opinion, communistic - government, his holidays abroad and the future.
It was nice. I want to call him up and hear more backpacking in Prague / visiting the Sphinx in Egypt / Motorcycle Diaries in South America stories.
But we didn't exchange numbers. And I vaguely remember his name. It's one of those passing winds that blew my way, I think.
O'world, I cannot hold thee close enough!
11:35:00 am