A monk - bald, bespectacled, and garbed in black, flowing
robes – enters. His face contracts to keep his coke-bottle glasses adrift upon
his aquiline nose. He navigates the sea of cross-legged students with remarkably
superb agility. His magnified eyes find a small patch in front of me. He executes
his dual bows and crackles his body – with his back to me - onto the buckwheat
cushion.
His eyes meet mine. Not the ones encased by thick, brown
plastic frames, but rather those tattooed on the back of his head. Pale, faded,
and droopy, they peer out lazily atop a zig-zagging carrot-shaped beak. I stare.
Dismayed. Mesmerized. Until the left eye winks…
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