Got to the beach at Posto 8 and parked my bike by the familiar shower stalls. I greeted the regular attendant there who greeted me with the usual greeting. “You been missing here, Cigano.”
“Well… If I’m missing here, I musta been present somewhere else. Now I’m present here and missing there. Such is my lot in life…” I laughed.
“Maybe you could try cloning yourself…” The bathroom attendant suggested.
“How can you be in two places at once when yer not anywhere at all?” I answered, ending the short philosophical debate with a question for us both to deliberate on till next time.
“It’s nice to be home,” I thought, grinning as I walked across the sand, feeling the hot South American sun burning my skin.
There was Eugene, sitting near the water’s edge with his guitar talking to a couple of grubby looking hippy types.
“Doing a little improvization, Genia?” I said, breaking his balls with a subtle reference to his statement on the Jo Soares TV show the night before that he never improvises musically, that improvisation is “for hippies sitting around the park.”
Youtube of Gogol Bordello on Jo Soares
“This is different, Cigano.” He grinned as we exchanged kisses on the cheek. “This is the beach, not the park.”
“Ahhh. Of course.” l laughed. It was good to see my friend again.
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love the aaarg matey face, JS!