Lou

Lou was a three-hundred pound black man in the heart of Prague.

How he got there, I did not know, nor did I ask. I have learned not to ask such questions. Abroad, people are usually somewhere because they do not want to be somewhere else. This makes for a intriguing back story, but also a tiresome conversation. And Lou was not into tiresome conversations. He stuck the clapper into an empty beer glass and let it rip. A young Czech student tried to keep up on the piano.

"You know I love you baby," his voice cried over the piano. "But. But but butbut buuut... not like that!" he wailed the last notes, his circular face cringing, eyes closed tight like it was an oversized orange being squeezed for the last drops of its juice.
Then he started again.

I was having my first frozen margarita in months. People around me were eating steaks and fries and tortilla chips. I no longer knew where I was. Prague? Missouri? I have never been to Missouri. Only in the Missouri within myself.
Have I been to Prague?

Over the garden, the half-eaten piece of the moon hung indifferently. It has seen this before. It will see it again.

Over the piano, Lou wailed and cried and laughed. Lou was a black man in the heart of Prague with a heart weighing three-hundred pounds. It is not easy trotting the world with a heart like that. I would cry as well.

After the show, Lou was all smiles at the bar. Perched on a bar stool, he was tapping the bar to a blues track coming from the overhead stereo. The drinks were shaking at the other end, and a few Scandinavian tourists readjusted themselves uneasily in their bar stools.

"Good show, man" I said, looking over at him.

Lou nodded and hit the bar twice as hard in response. "Where you from?" He asked after a moment.

I no longer know how to answer this question. Most often I randomly choose from a number of places, picking the one that best suits the topic. But with Lou, I was at a loss.

"Russia, then America..." said, stumbling over the words. I lived in Ukraine, which now only exists within my memories. In America I lived in New York, which houses anybody and everybody except those born on the continent.
Have I ever been to Russia? To America?

I should have made up a better reply.

"I used to play with a Russian," Lou replied. "Vladimir. Ain't ever seen a man beat a bass like that."

"Was this here?"

"Naw man. New Orleans. Heard of a city like that?"

"Of course," I laughed, and then instantly retraced my smile. "It's a shame what happened," I said, referring to the flood.

Lou's smile also waned for a moment. He nodded.

"It's like with Russia," I said, attempting to lift his spirits. "It sank too. The old world is buried under as well."

"Ain't no problem, man," he replied instantly with a shrug. "Cities are sinking all over. It's a new world we livin' in."

"So what's there to do?" I asked.

"What else is there to do?" Lou said matter-of-fact, his round face growing even rounder in a smile.
"Sing, man. Sing."


And so I sing. And with each song, the lightweight heart throws on an extra pound or two.
I just hope I could continue to carry it.