2024.07 Connection Lost

Three bottles of stolen ketchup and a Tabasco. A DJ hits town with his mates. He offers for me to join. In another life I would’ve.

A crooked Bay Watch picture of David Hasselhoff in the man’s toilet of a pub. A petite girl and a lumberjack of guy get out of one cubicle. “My apologies, gents,” he says, catches my eye in the mirror and smiles. Fortunately David doesn’t judge. 

A German writer returns to Poland to see his girlfriend, stares out the window of the train as we pass the border. I know that gaze. He’s caught between the gravitational pull of two countries, two potentials, two lives. We exchange stories, while a Norwegian family of pathological eaters litters the compartment with Twix wrappers, Monster Energy Drink cans, and Tofeefee boxes. Once they leave, we pick up the trash.

For each connection lost, another one is made. Never the same.