So for a month discovered one of his places of origin in his flesh and blood incognito.
He floated from streets to coffees, museums, friends-flats and theaters - a friendly little ghosts of times to come lingering in the cold unseen swallowing his mothers culture and amniotic fluid to equal measure hopefully.
We listened to nagymamas voice, tasted cottagecheesballs and gulyas, even listened to gipsy music, took yellow cabs and unmeasurable amount of unsolicited Hungarian advise.
Now we are back on the island ready to proceed.
Grow my boy.
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