What's Distance Between Friends?
Jacques was waiting for me at a metro stop in central Paris. He wore the same jacket that I remembered, with the same patch from a band whose name I couldn’t pronounce. I hadn't seen him for ten years, and I hadn't been back to Paris for eleven.
“Hello,” he greeted me, rubbing his beard wearily. “You're a long way from home.”
“Home is a long way from Paris,” I answered. “You, meanwhile, didn't even have to take a bus.”
He looked at me a long time, studying me. He needed to decide whether he still recognized me after ten long years.
“Monami,” he decided, and he hugged me like the old friend I still am.
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