Thursday, June 12, 2014

Laughing and Laughing All the Way to Peter the Russian


 As they say- It's 4/20 somewhere.
 Met Paul in the park and he just happened to be coming out of 7-eleven with Brian the Missionary and so we stood on the street corner giggling until we were interrupted by a very indiscernible basketball fanatic who wanted to ask about hoop stars from the 2001 Slam Dunk Championship.
 So we split and headed to Peters.  These massive apartment complexes rise straight out of the ground, giant obelisks of cement and steel and families packed one atop the other.
 Through the lobby we stop to chat Chinese with the guard.  He knows us...knows Peter... tells us he remembers our faces... I have stopped wondering how that is possible since I have no memory of him at all.
Upstairs we laugh and laugh as Peter keeps us entertained with stories of British squibbly bits and silly tits... all nonsense really, as John talks to his daughter and Lee May invites the French guitar teacher over to play.  Pausing by the window, I see the sun fall over the city and wipe my eyes.  Tears.  I'd been laughing myself to tears.  

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