Where My Heart Is

I took the 12 bus/streetcar route home today. I got to Marion Street just as a 12 bus was pulling away from the stop. I had a six minute wait for the next bus.

I exited at Broadway and rounded the corner just as a streetcar was leaving the stop. I had an eight minute wait for the next one. I took a seat on left end of the bench at the streetcar stop.

Two semi-homeless men (I guessing) sat down to my right. They started a conversation between themselves. I wasn’t listening, but I did hear some favorable thing about treatment at Harborview. They seemed like pretty nice guys.

Suddenly, I heard: “That guy has a map on the sole of his shoe.”

I looked over and the guy on the far right was smiling at me. “Addis Ababa,” he said, reading my shoe. Then he asked, “What kind of shoes are those?”

“Oliberté,” I replied, “They’re made in Ethiopia. Right there.” I touched Addis Ababa with my finger.

“Isn’t that where your heart is? In reflexology?”

I said I didn’t know, but that sounded right.

He said, “So I guess you can say your heart’s in Ethiopia.”

The three of us chuckled at that.

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