Secondo

The vista from the hill overlooking the photogenic port was picture post card like. Raj walked across, high above the river, heady from the tasting, looking to be alone yet not lonely in a crowd.

The lounge of the restaurant felt medieval. Dressed in the dark clothing demanded by the tradition of the folk singing, she walked onto the small stage. Eyes closed, head lifted upwards, a song of longing and nostalgia. The song, lyrics not understood, felt like a wistful and melancholic realization of the contradiction of the joy in living given the sorrow of reminiscing that makes it alive. Raj fought hard to not shed a tear, inexplicably on both counts.

Happiness is at best a refutation, it is what it is not rather than what it is. Raj had never been so happy to be so moved with a sense of what’s missing. Saudade & Saudacao!

Post Haste et Premier Post

The philosopher, butcher, and the lover sat at the bar. Raj sandwiched, with a bitter beer, considered a joke. One said the spirit was weak, she said the meat was willing, and they sipped and gulped. The market square outside under a looming iron age castle, was a place of public hanging in the past.

The music was vibrant, the dancing not so keen. The next round of whiskey made the dancing merrier. The butcher got up to step outside, the lover solidaired, and Raj followed to see if he could bum a smoke from them; fairly certain that being the reason for exit given their unpaid and unfinished drinks. She graciously lit the cigarettes. There was a long silence, communal, as the smoke was inhaled and rose into the crisp late spring night. Not many words were said, as the butcher, lover, and Raj played Rorschach tests with the swirling smoke.

Back in and settled into the chairs at the bar; the philosopher, Raj, butcher, and lover (placed in that order) reconnected with their drinks. The philosopher called up to the the becoming bartender, thanked us for our company, and picked the tab. We gladly acquiesced. And he walked out without saying good night.