“Have you ever sat down someplace quiet and just thought how pitiful the human race is.” She asked biting into an apple squinting at nothing through the sharp sun.
“No.” he laughed strumming the old guitar softly with his fingers. He had dyed his hair a frosty silver on his recent birthday and she had made fun of it and his French accent.
“Well, I think you should start. If history keeps repeating itself like it’s doing, there’s going to be an assignation of President Bush by the Russians and World War III will be the end of us. If it’s not, then another holocaust is guaranteed then.”
“Of what?” he stopped strumming the guitar and looked at her. There was a silent pause for several moments before she shrugged while still squinting through the sun.
“Blacks, Christian, Muslims…who knows? Maybe an exact repeat or a leader of all with no freedom or religion. Who knows.” She sighed and looked at him.
“Cigarette?” her eyebrow raised as he shook his head.
“I know you have some. You French invented cigarettes with no regard for anyone’s health. You horrible people.” She cracked a small smile as he pulled a pack out of his guitar case with a roll of his eyes.
“The Indians invented cigarettes.”
“No they didn’t.” he shot, “Weed.” He nodded matter-of –factly.
“Your guys’s favorite.” She laughed briefly.
“Shut up.” He snapped and her laughter turned into giggles. He snatched the pack from her hand while playing with the lighter for a flame.
“I’m glad we found each other. Glad we’re friends.” He said beginning to strum his guitar again and she nodded silently. She looked at her watch and frowned. She hopped up from the ground taking a drag from the cigarette.
“Dmitri, I’ve gotta go.” She said with a small smile, “Work calls.” He nodded and kept strumming as she brushed her pants off. She grabbed her small orange corduroy bag and swung it across her chest.
“See you Sadie.” He mumbled as she began to trek across the large green area of the park.