in a thousand eras, in ten thousand locations, to remember every detail would lead to madness. So for now, there is only the uneven rhythm of the fan above you, the blast from the air conditioner at the side. You have interrupted the barman's siesta, and even as he curses under his breath at you, he smiles, for travelers require at least the illusion of companionship, and you will not come this way again. But he is wrong, you have been here before, and will be again. Once there was just parched grass, the sting of sweat in the mouth, the fragrant drowned scent of cactus. Then for a time there was a city, buildings laid out like slabs, weeds thrusting through cracked pavement, the wavering glint of oil. Now it is a village, just this bar, a repair garage across the street. Stripped autos are wounded with rust, the rubber sagging from their tires like decayed skin. Today it is cola for you, and you press your Lin Page 2 tongue hard to the roof of your mouth, all the better to trap the fizz, and enjoy it as a newfound taste (once again). The television announcer screams Goooooooooaaaaaaaaal! Soccer or football, you ponder, whole civili-zations have come to blows over that question of terminology, but ages from now, no one will know these words. Another visitor enters, and he (or she) sits nearby, face hidden under a wide-brimmed hat. He (or she) too orders a soda, and he (or she) also smiles at you, but in quite a different way. There used to be a city -- the stranger begins, and you interrupt, And before that, the country, and then he (or she) finishes, And before that … And you both look at each other, hoping the other has the answer, and seconds stretch into minutes, and still you both wait, and anticipate. What came first? Commitment, perhaps, but that was for naught, just as irony was for naught, rage