Two strangers.

Maybe too often my conversations tend to be abstract. Too philosophical. Makes me wonder if that turns off most people. Maybe it doesn’t. Instead, they think I’m strange. Different. Which is all right. Personally, I like strange and different people. Maybe that’s why I like myself. Anyway, I’m able to converse with people. Mostly in English. But conversing doesn’t always take a spoken language. Mere presence can do it. Exuding vibes of one kind or another. By one’s looks. Or physical bearing. I practice looking at people. When walking along a street. Trying to force ‘em to look at me. Because they know I’m looking at them. I’ve sent a signal. It’s fun. Yesterday, I made the same rounds. Several times. Each time, I saw a man. Sitting atop a low wall. Wondered if he was a vagrant. Unemployed. Homeless. Must have been an Italian. Because I’m in Italy. If I spoke Italian, maybe I’d have approached him. Out of curiosity. Wonder if he noticed that I noticed. Or if he was oblivious of passersby. Oblivious of me. A strange man. As strange as him. Two strangers. Choosing to remain strangers. –Jim Broede