21st September 1892 - In London - or not -

[in_a_flash_x]

I've just learned that I've been invited to take my show on tour in the new world - with a week's engagement in Chicago and a tour to the dozen or so largest American cities. This is excellent

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[talkback]

A boy, well, man, eighteen anyways, with a rather ornate staff eyes the newcomer, then offers a nod by way of greeting.

"New?"

[in_a_flash_x]

"To the bar here? Not at all, young man. Are you?"

As I have only met a few people here.

[talkback]

"Nope. I been here... a couple of months."

He shrugs.

"You just had that new guy look."

[in_a_flash_x]

"Ah. My apologies. I hadn't been expecting to enter this establishment. I was on my way to my salon to read."

A bit of a lie, but not an important one.

[last1out]

And there she is, at the bar, sipping her drink.

And stopping, mid-sip.

She hasn't seen too many folks like this guy. A few. But not too many.

There may be waving.

[in_a_flash_x]

I'm not sure I know this lady, but I offer her a polite wave in return. And that's when I get a better look at her. There is something familiar about her, like I've seen her before, briefly as though she were a passerby on the street - there for a moment and gone again within a blink. But there is a sense of something, a memory of the child that we - Julia and I - lost many years ago.

I find myself moving, walking to stand just feet from her and the question I ask sounds trite and foolish, but it is the only question I can think to ask: "Have we met previously?" It is best not to be too presumptuous.

[last1out]

"Ah, yeah." And there may be a choked-off laugh in there, almost incredulous.

"Yeah. Just a few times. Wait. What year is it, for you?" Because you would think, by now, he would know her, know her very well. But then again, maybe he doesn't.

[in_a_flash_x]

"1892. I'll soon be departing for my first American tour."

Also I've recently learned of Borden's newest trick and have yet to see it for myself.