Eating kofte ekmek in Karabortlen

I sat with Steve, outside the kofte ekmek place - it was early evening - the small street was flooded with warm, soothing, light - we'd parked next to the bakery - you could smell the newly risen bread -

On the little table were two ashtrays, next to a small dish of green chillies - above us was a large, laminated, poster - you could see, in huge and terrible detail, all of the kofte and kebabs on offer -

A woman with shining black hair came out to take our order - she had a calm, gentle, smile - she used her fingers to tell us how many lira we were charged for the three kofte ekmek we ordered -

Our orders were wrapped up in old editions of Milliyet - we'd also asked for salads - I loved snarfing the delicate shreds of lettuce, the shards of fiery onions - we picked up a couple of the wicked green chillies -

There are 52 shops in the village, Steve told me - and this one makes 53 - it's new - 

Across the street, I could see the village mosque - next door to the mosque was a tiny barber's parlour, with room for just one chair -

I drove back to Jane and Ken's in the falling darkness - by the time I reached the bridge over the dry river bed, I had to put on the headlights -

I flooded the atrium with light, swimming in the pool afterwards, under the icy stars -

I slept that night without fear - in my dreams, I flew in the sky over fields and rivers - I saw people, far below, whose faces I almost remembered -