Tuesday, March 21, 2006

True story

When I was 17 I got on a train to travel around with two of my friends for four weeks. Somewhere in France we were sitting in a train, hungover, high, tired. It rained. My friend had an aisle seat and was drinking orange juice from a carton. A black French dude in some traditional African outfit walked up to him and asked something in French that my friend didn't understand. The guy asked again, slower, very patiently. My friend still didn't understand so the black guy slowly reached out for the orange juice carton, took it away from him and carefully spilled a little of it on the floor. He then handed it back to my friend, smiling and nodding and walked away.

1 comment:

RosemaryRuth said...

In America, that's called "One For My Dead Homies," and it's a ritual usually performed with malt liquor, at a backyard barbeque. But we at bird-brains are nothing if not multi-cultural. Spot on!