Like Budapest, right? Well, good and bad.
But yes, I remember the good. My heartbeat beneath your ear, Joe's heartbeat beneath mine.
Nature was too strong for us, we said. We fought it
off with a bottle of Moskovskaya or three.
From vodka we went to Tokaya to bad poetry to bed. You and me and Joe.
The Gray Danube tried unfailingly not to move. And failed.
You remember all that too?