My favourite place once was a quiet bar. You could spin stories of chatter you heard into stories you read. You could also find yourself having conversations you never imagined, created from listening to a thousand interpretations of a book. The quiet bar can be an unknown and unbeknownst book club. My favourite story, though I have two of those stories from those nights, is one night I remember looking at this man on this Sunday evening, at the Wooly, and the man struck me, Leon? I didn't dare interrupt the guy I had not seen since I was 10 when he was my older's brother friend, Leon. I knew it was Leon who had moved to Bangkok in his twenties, then got married, had children and stayed. Turns out that night I knew before my brother, Leon, had come back to Canada.
So there I was looking at Leon. He was with someone. I would not dare interrupt them from what felt a fool's chance. I was happy and content thinking this is him. I knew from his stature and face - he's small. A five foot tall man is striking, after all.
When his friend left. Leon came to my table and you must imagine I was waiting for 'David'. Nope. I had been looking at him in puzzlement all this time. No, he came to me and said,
'I can't help myself, but do you mind if I ask, 'what do you get from reading at a bar? I only ask because for years I have been teaching abroad and a fellow friend/teacher spoke at lengths of how he loves reading at a bar? So I have to ask you as you are the first one I've seen since him reading at a bar.' I smiled and said, 'why do you want to know this, Leon?'
