Coffee

Our first night in Budapest we sat outside a late-night hookah bar, at a picnic table on the side of a busy road, under an array of red umbrellas.  It was a casual place, a warm night, finally– the first of four.  Finally, I could put away my sweaters.  Finally, somewhere neither of us spoke the language.

Micha went into the bar to order a shisha and came back with a latte.  “Your turn,” he said.

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