Lens: Linsanity and Linguine
Looking up, I notice a young black man across the street. I immediately
scold myself for thinking it's B, but then realize it really is him. He has a book bag swung
over one shoulder and an amused look on his face. We haven't seen each other for a few weeks and
never in this neighborhood, so it's a happy, albeit slightly disorienting, coincidence. B's done
with school for the day and I'm famished, so we go to an Italian cafeteria adjacent to the
Wilmersdorfer Strasse subway stop. He orders something creamy and rich. I ask for something
"spicy" with extra spice. The men behind the counter wear shirts splattered with grease and yell
in Italian when it's ready...
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