i had never had
before but: why not?
i was on my last twenty pounds of which i’d just spent fourteen on breakfast, so
a cocktail at noon
i’d got to istanbul on my own after christoph and i parted ways
back in budapest: he’d had enough and wanted to go home, i
wanted to see
how i ended up in istanbul i’m not sure, i
i must have got on the wrong train
different train: what can be
about a train that takes you to istanbul, a train that takes you somewhere
you’ve not been before –
he’d sent over the waiter. that
i thought. he looked maybe forty, thirty-eight, forty?
i later find out he was pushing fifty; i wasn’t meaning to flatter him though
i went across to his table and all the while he was looking at me the way your uncle who hasn’t seen you in years or a friend of your mum’s who remembers you as a baby might look at you: a familiarity that says, you don’t know who i am but i changed your nappies when you were little.
that’s why i accepted his invitation to
in the first place: he felt harmless. forlorn, perhaps, and a bit quizzical, but nonetheless harmless.
i sat down and he said: ‘don’t tell me: it’s george.’ and that made me wonder.
‘good to meet you george, my name is sebastian.’
i’d always liked
as a name.
he looked at me with his nearly-a-stare that spoke of
i asked him: what are you doing in
if only i knew, he laughed, and there was a silence
how about you?