We sat on two park benches, angled perpendicular, just off the main town square. She cooked couscous over a small propane tank, and then onions, tomatoes, peppers and spice. He hand rolled cigarettes, told stories in German, through her, to me. I brought mussels in a sweet tomato sauce, sliced Spanish chorizo, a baguette and canned tuna. We spilled beer, and shared it. I peer pressure hit a joint. We talked about living with nothing, and the day being everything. I wonder...if you've never spoken to somebody who doesn't speak your language, have you spoke? The odds are I'll never see these two again, even with Facebook, and I'm fine with that cause, we shared what needed to be, when it mattered...in the moment. What else is left?