Jul 22, 2019
He looks away pensively at the lethargic cars down Franklin Street and the heat-stroked American flag waving atop a pole. Heβs from Sri Lanka, I gather, and wears a crispy white t-shirt that says Lake Tahoe. A hot teapot sits between him and her, and there is silence again. There is no need to hurry. She listens, and his white eyes gaze beyond her. He rummages for his thoughts, like a child philosopher in serious concentration, and kicks off his sandals, crossing those slender feet. There is a slow humor simmering in the summer heat.
