Peering

When I was in Da Nang, I stopped at a place called Beach Cafe. At least I think that was what it was called. It was around 5 pm so the sun was going down, but the place was really more of a bar, so I pretty much had my choice of seating.

I sat down at a table on the back patio. Well, less of a table and more of a brick part of the wall of the patio. The other side of my table was the ocean. The surf, when the tide was in, lapped against the base of the wall. There were spots of wet in the table ashtray.

A small piece of paper was sticking out from under the ashtray. So after I ordered a beer I pulled it out. It was a note scrawled in Spanish and, after Google translate and some rearranging of the words, it said something like this:

I look across the water, green and white, and feel the call of home

I leaned back and watched the horizon, which was gathering dark fog, with the sun setting behind me and I thought for a second I could feel the lights of California, shimmering somewhere across the China Sea.

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