A rastaman steps towards me, singing, accompanied by his guitar. Coincidence? Or does that not exist, and is this just another one of the synchronicities I often experience? He’s singing ‘No Woman No Cry’ by Bob Marley and looks at me. Damn, that hits me! Does he see that I’m crying? Nah. My tears are the kind you swallow. You know the ones. The tears you hold back because if you let them go at that moment, you know it won’t be okay anymore.

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