redo

We talked for hours over burritos, about Vienna and cynicism, about food and poop and friends and sex and getting older. When we finally pulled our jackets back on, and walked outside, I unlocked my bike and we stood shivering while he smoked, in that strange familiar way that he pulls on a cigarette, breathy, like sipping through an empty plastic straw. He said, it's good to see you again. He said, we're the type of travelers who will meet up again in a year, or more, and neither of us will have changed. We'll swap our stories of might-have-been plans and how we don't know where we're heading. We'll talk about falling in love, and out again, and being better off in the end. I hugged him goodbye, a good long hug, and we kissed cheeks with loud smacks, and he smelled like old friendship on a chilly night.