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cairo airport.
she looks like mary stuart masterson
all blonde and manic eyed.
orders red wine. asks if the prices are US$
fingers flicking together.
the waiter engages my Lover and i in small talk.
“i don’t believe you, Zimbabwe!
there are only black people there.
if there are more women like you in your country i will come.”
the margaritas are bad. the conversation is interesting
only because time needs to be killed.
i’ve found a barman in Cairo who has
worked in the Ministry of Sound,
in London.
there’s a 5 hour wait until flight MS 839 is called.
in between
there are glasses of white wine
four lamb chops, a cappuccino and a chocolate pastry
because i like his smile.

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