Image Junkyard, #2 (Week 1)

Bus, crammed in languages: mine and theirs, some Spanish and Asian, too. The bright yellow of my shirt isn't the foreign give-away. It's the tongue, the way I say surprise me to the Italian boy behind the counter. And Crema de Grom. My first taste of Torroncino nougat and good gelato. On a slip of paper his name spelled in two different worlds, so we both understand. I smile but leave my name perched  there, on my lips--too clichéd and not yet ready to give.