I cursed a stranger's name in a stranger's tongue. I felt the foreign words slide past my lips, and thought the sensation akin to tasting a new spice. What strange etymology led to the formation of such alien sounds? Better question, when did I become so xenophobic?
I had to remember that this cagey cretin did not represent his entire people, and fortunate they were for this fact. If he did, I would have little recourse but to declare the whole lot of them conniving, tight-lipped assassins of virtue and common decency. He smelled of old shoes and taxi cabs. His outfit consisted of corduroy pants and a cotton short-sleeved button-down shirt on which bright jagged stripes plotted a confusing course from collar to hem. His footwear looked as if it had been lifted from a bowling alley. He was an ethnic Cosmo Kramer, but he was deadly serious.
"You insult me in my mother tongue," he said quietly, "and so I will have the audacity to do the same. You, sir, are a balding, soft, slack-jawed American yokel. You would not know culture if it came up behind you and shoved a railroad spike up your pudgy Yankee ass."

I Still Believe

I still believe in the stuff of legends.
I still believe in two hearts as one.
I still believe in the existence of some higher power in this universe.

I still believe in myself.
I still believe in others.
I still believe there is hope left in this place.

I still believe in poetry.
I still believe in a loud guitar.
I still believe there's a child in me.

I still believe in looking up at the stars.
I still believe in casting my doubts into the sea.
I still believe answers lie in campfires.

Paul Simon said that these are the days of miracle and wonder.
I still believe him.
I still have reason to believe that we all will be received in Graceland.

It is not enough to believe. I must transform belief into action.