Through the patter of chat and gravel under foot, we have found our way to this, Our own small piece of bliss. Past tropics and subtropics, we have travelled years in just a few short hours, to an enclave created for those who borrow time. The language of the day is Latin. Words will roll off the tongue as if they are familiar to us, as if any of this were familiar to us. But, we will still pretend to feel this is ours, that we know everything, and our phones don’t matter. In the end we decide to settle, for a drink, somewhere in Africa back within the conversation that we join with care, promising ourselves before we step back into our discomfort that one day, we will return.