Sarasota Short Story: Strangers.

10:28 on Monday night and I'm wandering around downtown. For what reason? I don't know. I don't feel at home at my home, and I knew if I went back I couldn't sleep. I called him three times, like a pathetic withering female, expecting him to pick up. He didn't.

A man, rough with life's latest turmoils, stopped me and asked if I knew Sarasota well. I said yes, but he was asking about where all the shelters are and I didn't know anything about that. He said he had an hour to find $10 to stay at the Salvation Army because he was separated from his wife. I told him I understood his feeling of displacement and gave him what he needed. I really hope he used it to sleep somewhere safe.

I ran into three English gentlemen later on the street.
"It must be fate that we have seen you twice this evening," one said, and invited me for a drink.
The older man said that women should be treated like princesses.
"Order whatever you want."

Newcastle, french onion soup, chicken fingers.

He called, and I shortened what would have been a blubbering, too-long conversation into what was necessary in err of being vague and hung up. The strangers and I talked about buddhism, food, and divorce. We also discussed the buoyancy of watermelons and the tall man recounted a too-long nipple piercing story. It was quite interesting.

I must say, strangers make the best conversations.