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What's wrong with us, with you and me?" Michael offered his hand, but Eli flinched. "That's great. Thanks a lot. So now what? Do you want to be friends?" There was the dirty word: "friends." If one American knew another for five minutes, suddenly he was his "friend" and required to poetry lay down his life for a stranger. Wait one minute more and they'd forget each other's names. "I'm tired," Eli said and put his pillow over his head. Michael tried poetry to pull away the pillow. "What did you expect when I came here?" poetry And what did he expect? Eli thought. To fuck me in the house of my mother? For all their sunscreen and water bottles and guidebooks and maps, they were helpless.
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