Myanmar II

We sat on the same steps of the same YMCA building, looking out the same dusty windows at the same blue sky and run-down shack. The same Burmese flag was hanging there limply, just like it did that day last year. We sat and talked about it, smoking together. Nothing had changed, except for the addition of a pile of bricks.

I had said, see you again. And there we were.

You, me, and the pile of bricks.