REFRACTION

You know the phenomenon of refraction, where the light hits the water and takes a sharp turn downward, and you can't tell if you've finished half your pint or three-quarters of your pint or if the pint in front of you is one your friend ordered you and took a sip of whilst delivering—

We met in a bar called High Dive, a pun proved in its low-lit/high-priced interior, and we had a pleasant evening before parting ways with a polite hug.

Sharing a wide grin, we refilled our glasses saying this or that about optimists and pessimists, but ended up agreeing that a near-empty glass is a sign that the wine is in our bellies, and that thought made us laugh.

Dust

Dry summer storms, semi-desert bluster, this city, now, is high dust. Further south, the monsoon has arrived, but humidity precedes it here and we wait, days dawning hot, setting still. Sitting in a dusty terrace full of dusty plants in a dusty green shirt eating with my fingers off a steel plate, making prints on the kitchen floor with water splashing out of a tiny sink after a big meal, luxuriating to the rumour of a breeze, I am flush with the place. This is geography between my toes, congregating in the creases of my body, this is the answer to the word 'where'.