Home is where familiarity is. It is where we feel secured. It is where we relax our body and mind and reminisce those things that we have just experienced. It is where we recover our strength for the next day or it is where we rest our fighting spirit.


The Spirit Dies

In a few days we had plans to meet again at the station, and make our way back to Jon’s apartment.  At this point I could hardly sit through a half-day of work; let alone wait until quitting time.  Jon was excited too, but probably for much different reasons.

Text message:

Awesome, I’m going to stop by the store and pick up some stuff for tonight

He replies:

Great! Can’t wait to see you :-)

We met at a major station hub and he escorted me to his home. Now Jon is your typical WASP; White Anglo-Saxon Protestant-reared suburban boy who has probably never tasted rice and beans mélange on the same plate. At least, not at his mommy’s house…At his stop, I could literally smell the Popeye’s chicken frying in their twelve herbs and spices, before the train doors opened.  As we walked, we passed by…

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