So, I'm in New Orleans over the weekend for a conference and on Thursday evening I head over to The Old Absinthe House for a shot of, what else, absinthe.
I'm minding my own business and sipping from my glass of Lucid absinthe (for $19!) and I feel a hand on my shoulder as a man sits down next to me, introduces himself, and asks where I'm from. After ensuring my wallet was still in my possession I tell him I'm from the Detroit-area. Coincidentally, so is he. Or was, until several years ago when he lost his job.
He proceeds on a 15-minute monologue about his life, the city of Detroit, its baseball team, how he lost his job due to drugs and alcohol, how he's never been happier now that he's got a simple job near New Orleans. When he described how he inherited about $70k from a dead uncle I realized he probably wasn't going to ask me for money.
Yet I still wondered why he was talking to me at that moment. I suppose I'm a bit overly suspicious when a stranger starts a conversation and I was sure he must need something.
However, after his monologue he stands up and announces he has to leave. But before he takes off he asks me if I want to know why he sat down next to me. Well, of course I did.
"I picked you because I'm your angel." And just like that the man leaves me sitting there with my absinthe.
(And, no, I was not hallucinating ... )
Writing (and translation) in ... Burma - The *Myanmar Times* offers a top-ten list of local (Burmese) authors and translators. Very little Burmese fiction is available in translation...
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