In the headlights of the parked cars. Saw Laura. Drinking peach / schnapps and orange juice. Cheeks flushed. Singing. And turning / circles. In Midland. Those gravel pits. Those dry hot nights.

I mean, when else am I going to be in a Pink Pussy Cat Lounge in the Kidney Room with an eighty-year old man asking me to hold his pink dildo strap-on as he goes down on it?

A couple of weeks after arriving in Bucharest, I received an invitation to attend a party. The purpose of the get-together was to welcome the new Fulbrighters, and at the gathering was a Romanian professor of British Studies. I remembered him from my previous posting, five years before, but we hadn't interacted much. British Studies and American Studies in Romania are rivals for students interested in pursuing English-language study, and the American and British departments can sometimes resemble belligerent fiefdoms.