He boarded somewhere in Coral Springs, the land of manicured lawns and so many trees they hide the bus stops. An older gentleman, hunched from the years, with a dark, full goatee. A curious accent behind his fluent English tweaked my ear. Bus space is magic, it makes it possible for the whole world to come in those doors and be at ease. Very quickly I learned he would be going to Afghanistan for several months.
"I was born there, but I'll die here." A depressing comment on the face of it, but actually just a matter-of-fact statement. He then transitioned into talking about the house he built here for his growing family, those children now grown. A journey begun many years before in a distant land had led him to Broward County, making us neighbors. I asked him to send a postcard.