Where are
you from, I ask the waiter.
He is from
Brazil, Poland, Florence.
Sometimes
he is from Mexico, and I
say: so is
my nephew�s fianc�e.
In Auckland
the taxi driver who lives in
Henderson
is from Afghanistan. There are
forty of
them there, he says. They love it, but
they have to make their own bread.
In New York
the taxi driver is from Pakistan.
He asks me
where I�m from, and
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