I walked by the Post Office tonight on the way back from happy hour with my friends. It was the same place and same hour as the first night when I arrived in Ozurgeti; empty and deserted.
As that first night, there were random singular forms walking to unknown destinations down dark streets.
I walked the two blocks that the marshrutka drove that initial night to my home. It was the same, but now looked and felt different. It was home now, as before it was a strange house at the other side of the world.
A lovestruck Romeo, he sings the streets of serenade
Laying everybody low with a love song that he made
Find a convenient streetlight, steps out of the shade
He says something like, “You and me, babe, how about it?”