FORT FUCK UP/ St La Croix / MONDAY

I met Nate earlier this morning and I explained
that I had just bought a mug which I had to explain
was a large cup and a pair of runners which I had to
explain were sneakers.
‘What does your mug say?” asked Nate.
I looked at him impressed by how quickly he had
taken the word into his vocabulary and by his evidently
American expectation that a mug should always
have something written on it.
“Nothing,” I said “it’s a moot mug”
Nate smiled now as if a droplet of some drug not
yet wrung dry of it’s use has just percolated somewhere
inside him. He was looking far too happy.
‘Right on” he said and turned way from
me to go catch his bus.
I was about to point out that where I come from
we’d say go and catch the bus.
But what was I the fucking Ambassador for Europe?