Some years ago a beautiful Malaysian woman
introduced me to her friend Siddhartha.
We all became friends, and would eat dosas
in Jackson Heights and listen to Siddhartha.
He’s the kind of person who vanishes. After a while
he did. Two months ago he messaged me:
I have something to say. Can I come for coffee
tomorrow morning at nine? Sure I said
but Siddhartha did not appear.
Yesterday early morning I saw him
on the subway platform. “I’m going
to a Franz Fanon movie about oppression
and there’s only one showing,” he said.
“What about Birdman?” I asked.
“No more movies about white
man’s oppression,” he said.