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Updated: May 25, 2025
The next morning, he was sure the whole thing had been a dream. Sleepwalking, probably. He comforted himself with this conclusion as he drove by the elementary school on his way to work. He slowed as a kickball bounced lazily into the road. An older child with an orange crossing-guard sash carefully crossed the street to get it. Justin turned toward the school.
This solitary passage was very different from that joyful down-journey in the third-class with the lama. 'Sahibs get little pleasure of travel, he reflected. 'Hai mai! I go from one place to another as it might be a kickball. It is my Kismet. No man can escape his Kismet. But I am to pray to Bibi Miriam, and I am a Sahib. He looked at his boots ruefully. 'No; I am Kim.
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