Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Joseph S Pete Jun 2018
No reservations, no known points, no fish on Mondays,
no more warthog ****** or fermented shark,
nothing but kitchen omerta out the steamy back-alley backdoor,
nothing but adventure, exploration, basic human decency.

Nothing but grace and love and travel,
nothing but a steaming *** full of public love in the end,
nothing but leather and curiosity,
nothing but a hot bowl of noodles in a not-so-alien land.  

Nothing but a friend in a foreign place,
inviting us all to be so understanding,
inviting us all to be less afraid of the exotic,
inviting us all to be our best selves in the end.
A Mess of Words Jun 2018
Saw a comment
In this age of interwoven everything
Incensed that Bourdain's death
Receive more attention than those
Of many lost veterans

(My father a veteran
With yet a glint of hope
To live out his years
To their natural end

And my grandfather
A serviceman long ago
Carrying light betrayals
Of this said great nation

Great men both, and)
Great those who give their all
Yet what gave us Bourdain?

Just as much
In equal measure

A life
Hard lived
Worn and weary and truthfully
Desperate

All peoples feel
The terrible weight of their sins
Even,
At days end,
Those who profess no belief

Bourdain gave art
Bought with sweat and blood and
Costly time
(For all of us
Time is valuable beyond gold)

Art
And food
And good cheer
Spent in the late evenings
And long mornings
Surrounded by all manner of
Gripping yarn

A double life?
Not unlikely
A wounded wanderer?
Most assuredly
A value immeasurable?
Beyond doubt

And what would we all do?
Should we write, or read, or sing, or paint, or eat, or travel, or labor, or rest, or weep, or laugh, or cook, or question, or answer, or defend, or break?

Love,
And live.
Veterans of this warring world
Cooks of worthy creations
brocoli rob
smoke the hemp
the day after that mechanical man Al Gore took the stand
I couldn't cry over Bourdain
tried to see what he was up to next but it was too late
a Chinese man was in the alley taking a *** ***
just after elder Bush touched some bush he gets in trouble again
this time was his friend Dan Quayle in drag
the truth can hurt at times so refined never second guessing
I'll start professing a good cause to come clean living in a land of mean

Bourdain was for Bourdain so why should we complain
the guy was totally insane taking his own life for the sake of what ?
you make me want to throw up in mouth mouth blame, ***** & pout
the beautiful thing is when the fat lady sings but sorry it still isn't over then
got fish for frying and i'm not lying
environmental sound like Dan Quayle in a gown
stick it to the man who once said,"Yes We Can"!
more drama for your momma in comes homeboy Obama
Trump is busy working with the wall trying to stand up ten feet tall
Cold **** sorry that I missed a sacred kiss with a hero in our mist.
ShFR Aug 2022
“Completely under the impression she would resume her status outside” he thought..
maybe my own words betrayed me as the knife entered Brutus

Unhinged,
could the mind play a game, it saw the movies but did it Saw 5?

Animals huddled around the man made entry salivating at the idea of another chance,
ravenous they paced hungry for a sole sight  

What could be for dinner?
If an appearance not made would both beings have to consider drastic measures. A voyage? A continental trip to parts unknown? Meeting ghosts are not my style but Anthony Bourdain was surely welcome.

Was that a twitch from the ****,
all beings in the area stood at attention awaiting a response from the opening. Informal gestures and gazing eyes they dampen any doubts of their desires.

“How dare they keep us waiting”
the impatient thoughts arose out of the sandy concrete mixture. Those who knew of the situation stood steadfast and steady — this might be it

No “read” stamp,
hope has begun to dwindle.
I too wished of a different outcome but life demands transitions.
© 2022 by ShFR All rights reserved. No part of this document may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of ShFR
july hearne Jul 2018
marijuana, fourth of july,
and even then
that anthony bourdain look in your eye

never did know
how much i could relate

and that’s what i do these days,
i relate and relate

soon it will be time to remember
you'll be gone four years already,
and i've lived the kind of life
that knows better than to face you
around or gone four years already
B L Costello Jun 2018
THE MIND OF A CHEF
Can scare you to death,
THE LAY OVER cancelled
Anthony left,
He was always gone,
He worked on vacation,
A COOKS TOUR,
NO RESERVATIONS,
He said that he had no regret,
Thru the sinewy smoke of his cigarette,
and still he left us eating crow,
keeping a secret,
PARTS UNKNOWN,
He's gone again,
his choice,
his fault,
Clearing the table,
I spill the salt,
Unlucky,
******!
I don’t understand
The flavor is gone,
Everything’s bland
©B L Costello 2018
The Chef

As the Bourdain said a cook is nobody
he has no power no one cares what he has to say
some of them are gifted with a natural talent for food and its ingredient
and flashes of inspiration can fire the spark that is godlike.
I knew of a restaurant which was always full at lunch and dinner,
Where the chef? I asked a waiter. Oh, he is somewhere in the back.
Back of the food place an open door, the chef stood to smoke
a cigarette. I looked at me sourly, but when I expressed
interest and when an order came in of a bacon omelette
he made it with the flourish of a craftsman.
The manager of the establishment said the chef had worked here for
Six years but he- the chef- was impossible to work with.
The chef suddenly quit and drove a taxi. Less stress that way.
The restaurant faltered until the penny dropped, a chef is a star
In the firmament of catering without a flawed genius in the kitchen, it is better
to run a pizza parlour
How do you describe
I'm not sure that you can
Truly find the words for
A Renaissance Man

I woke up this morning
Saw the paper, he was dead
Renaissance Man
Popped into my head

Rebel against the standard
Rage not causing pain
Live a life worth living
Like Anthony Bourdain

Teacher, writer, critic
Chef, student and man
Philosopher and cleric
A grown up Peter Pan

Question those around you
Learn, and share the wealth
Be a Renaissance Man to others
Don't keep your knowledge on the shelf

Demons, we all have them
Don't feed them, for they breed
Doubt into existence
Dark demons need to feed

Live life, avoid the shadows
Share and then go share again
Don't end up on a headline
Fight the urge, count to ten

Today, I read a headline
A Renaissance Man out of pain
I guess we never really knew him
Rest gentle Sir Boudain
James Floss Jan 2019
Bless me Padre for I have sinned
My last confession was 3 poems ago

Padre, I watch ****; food ****
Lamb shank in a garlic fennel sauce

Pig parts unknown wrapped in bacon
Tri-tip and tripe marinated in marrow

Padre, I eat my veggies
(caramelized broccoli florets in a Béarnaise sauce)

But **** that man Bourdain!
Again and again and again!

I find myself drawn to pork stewing
In decadent assorted sweet-meats

Padre, I need a chlorophyll cleanse
Please accept my humble supplication…

What? Three kale martinis and one cauliflower?
I repent! Let the cleanse begin!
Where Shelter Jul 2018
People who are experiencing depression use different words than people who are not



By Elizabeth Bernstein
June 11, 2018 9:33 a.m. ET

Feeling down? Pay attention to your language.

Language changes significantly in both content and word choice in people who are depressed, according to a growing body of research using computer programs to analyze speech and writing. People who are depressed tend to use the pronoun “I” more, indicating a greater focus on self. They also use “absolute” words like “must,” “completely,” “should” or “always,” reflecting an overly black-or-white outlook.

Scientists have long known that people change how they speak when they are depressed—their speech becomes lower, more monotone and more labored, with more stops, starts and pauses. But newer studies, including several published this year, have found differences in the actual words depressed people use.

People who are depressed “don’t see subtleties, and we can see this in the words they use,” says James W. Pennebaker, professor of psychology at the University of Texas at Austin, who studies how language relates to a person’s psychological state.

The study of computer-assisted language analysis for depression is still a nascent field, but apps and other technology that track language could eventually help doctors and patients identify a depressive episode more quickly. Since there are no biological markers for depression as there are for cancer and other diseases, therapists currently have to rely on a patient’s self-reported symptoms and on their own analysis to diagnose the disorder. Both can be highly subjective. The apparent suicides of designer Kate ***** and chef Anthony Bourdain last week underscore just how challenging it can be to identify and treat depression.

How to Talk With Your Dying Loved One

Conversations about death are among the most important, and difficult, we may ever have. Too often, we avoid them, Elizabeth Bernstein writes.



In research published online in March in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, researchers at the Universities of Arizona, Zurich and Texas, as well as Michigan State and Georgia Southern, gave questionnaires designed to measure depression to more than 4,700 people at six labs in the U.S. and Germany. Participants were asked to write about their lives, a recent relationship breakup, their level of satisfaction with life, or just their general thoughts and feelings. Then software analyzed their language. The results: In addition to using more negative, or sad, words, people who were depressed used more first-person pronouns or “I-talk” than people who were not depressed.

Pronouns show where a person is focusing attention, says Dr. Pennebaker, who is an author on the study. Someone who is really interested in another person will use the third person “he” or “she.” Someone closely focused on a relationship will use “we.” “But if you are thinking about yourself—if you are more self-conscious or self-aware, as depressed people are—you will use the first-person singular ‘I’ or ‘me,’” Dr. Pennebaker says.

Depressed people also tend to view the world in a concrete, black-or-white way, using words such as “must,” “completely,” “should” or “always” that express absolutist thinking, as shown in a series of three studies published together in Clinical Psychological Science in January.

The researchers, from the University of Reading in the U.K., used software to calculate the percentage of absolutist words used in messages by approximately 6,400 members of internet forums for depression, anxiety, suicidal ideation and a host of control forums. They found that approximately 1.5% of words used by people in the depression and anxiety forums were absolutist—which was 50% more than those used by people in the control forums. The percentage was even higher for people in the suicidal ideation forums: about 1.8%.

Why are absolutist words so bad? People often don’t realize they are using them, and they can amp up negative thoughts. (Think about having your barbecue rained out. Saying “this always happens” is a much harsher thought than “sometimes the weather is unpredictable in June.”) Absolutist words also require that the world correspond to your view. (“I must get that promotion.” “My children must behave.”) “If the world doesn’t adhere to what you demand of it, that is when depression and anxiety set in,” says Mohammed Al-Mosaiwi, a Ph.D. candidate in psychology at the University of Reading and lead author on the studies. The more flexible you are, the better, he says.

Psychologists say people can use language as a tool to help them reframe their thoughts. “Very often, what you say is what you internalize,” says Mr. Al-Mosaiwi. Here are some tips:

Remember that the actual words you say matter, not just the thoughts they convey. Even if you are unable to replace negative words with positive ones, try replacing them with more accurate neutral ones. Instead of: “This party is horrible,” try “This event is not for me.”

Banish absolutes, especially in relation to your goals or relationships, where falling short of your expectations can be particularly depressing. These words and phrases include: always, never, nothing, must, every, totally, completely, constantly, entirely, all, definitely, full and one-hundred percent. Replace them with nuance. Instead of: “I can never catch a break,” try “Sometimes things don’t work out.”

Write. Keep a journal. Try a stream-of-consciousness writing exercise. Compose an email to a friend. Then analyze what words you are using. Are they too negative or absolutist? All about you? Tweak those sentences—and stay vigilant for those words in your speech.

Ask a loved one to help you identify absolutist or negative words or sentences and suggest reframing. It is easier to notice someone else’s language than our own.

Create a mantra you can use to override absolutist language. So instead of saying “This always happens to me,” say “This time. This happened this time.”

Put your mantra on sticky notes and place them where you can see them. Make it your screen saver. Have a needlepoint pillow made.

Pay attention to your use of the word “I.” If most of your sentences have “I” or “me” in them, you are probably too self-focused, says Dr. Pennebaker.
JB Claywell Jun 2018
On Sunday afternoons, I go to the Hy-Vee gas station and write up journal entries and/or just whatever ideas are floating around in my head.

In doing what I do for a living, I hear a lot of stories. Some of those stories are pretty tough. So, writing about the stories themselves or writing about the way those stories made me feel at the time is pretty essential. It keeps me clean, so to speak. Writing about work lets me keep the stories, so that I might learn a lesson here and there, while letting me let the pain, hurt, or other dirt go. Plus, as a bonus, I don’t get too worn out in the doing of the work. The writing staves off any empathy fatigue I might feel.

Also, I tend to wander around town in the evenings. I do it so that I might people watch and so that people can check me out.  That sounds a little odd doesn’t it?  I know. But, here’s why I do it…

My dad used to ask me, when I was a boy: “How many handicapped people do you see?”  “How many people that have an obvious disability do you actually see in St. Joe?”  “None. Except for me, I don’t see any.” I would answer.  And, at the time, at least for me, it was about 99.9% true.

“So”, Pops would say; “Be the one that people see.”

What he meant was that people are often fearful of what they see as different or don’t understand. We all know this to one degree or another, I hope.

So, in doing what Henry Rollins has taught me, at least while working all over Northwest Missouri, I try to put as much mileage on my crutches as I am able. While I’m out there I try to meet as many people and shake as many hands as I can.  I check people out and give them an opportunity to check me out. And, I write about those interactions.

I am a huge fan of the travel writings of both Henry Rollins and Anthony Bourdain. (I’m so sad that Tony left us. Really, it has been like losing a pal.)  However, while I don’t disagree with them that every American should have a passport that is well used, I know that for myself and a lot of Americans travel like those guys do, is a financial fantasy.

But, I can go to City Market in Kansas City, I can go to Cameron, Missouri, I can enjoy and ask questions of the other parents and patients when I take Alex to Children’s Mercy for appointments. I can and I do.   And, no one person has ever been anything less than kind to me. For each other, we are the “one that people see” and I think we’ve done ourselves and our stories as good a service as we can.

Recently, I opened up The Ritual a little. It morphed a bit when my pal Josh would join in. Both he and I would set up like we were going to write our next batch of poems and then we would start talking. We’d bounce around conversationally, just like two pinballs in a machine; there wasn’t a topic that either of us could think of that we couldn’t rail on for the two-hour parameter I’d set.  Neither of us got any writing done. I don’t think either of us cared.

That said, I’ve left The Ritual as it is now. I’ve put it out there on social media that I’m sitting at the Hy-Vee plaza, in Caribou Coffee writing on Sundays.  Sometimes Josh shows up, sometimes he doesn’t.  But, I keep the idea of conversation at the forefront of The Ritual. Sometimes, I think it’s more important than the writing that either does or does not get done.

Why? Because now, in this era of social media, we isolate too much. We feel like we really do have 547 friends or followers when really, we’re alone in our rooms with our smartphones, tablets, or laptops. I imagine if the only socialization I got was online, I’d be horribly lonely.

I’m not putting down Facebook or Twitter users. I am one. But, I want to talk to as many human beings as I can before I kick off.  

So, if you need to talk, want to talk, or like to talk...

It’s a Sunday Ritual soon and it’s all ours for the taking, and talking.
* not a poem
James Floss Jun 2018
Mr. B;
Tony,
Anthony—

Why?
The hard part:
Unknown.

I’m angry
Mr. B
Stories untold
Camila Jun 2018
I really dont know how to put what I'm about to say in a way that sounds like poetry without leaving stuff out and I think this is an important issue that must not be left to interpretation of the reader (like poetry does).
I wrote a poem almost a year ago (its down here somewhere) about a friend that commited suicide (I will call him R from now on) and even though I still think about him constantly this past week he's been more in my mind, I dreamed about him last week and woke up in tears and then I heard about Kate ***** and Anthony Bourdain, I talked to some friends and they were thinking more about him these past days sooo.... background story.
I'm a doctor, I'm a resident. I'm lucky enough to say I have a lot a good friends some of them are my med school classmates, R was one of them.
After graduation we all pursued doing a residency and thankfully we all got into what we wanted, most of my friends, including R, got to stay in the same city we all studied together, which was nice because most of their families lived there and they didnt have to pay rent and stuff like that.
A few months before the residency program began R called me and said the most shocking thing, he confessed to me that he had been diagnosed with depression during our third year in med school and that he was doing well enough that his psychiatrist considered he didnt need medication anymore, but was going to keep an eye on him in case he needed them again, he had been off the medication for 8 months by the time he called me and this were his exact words after he said all that to me "I know I'm not okay, and I know this because I have everything I ever wanted, I have friends that I love, I have an amazing family, I have the career that I want, I got accepted into the program I worked so hard for and still I think it would be better to die, and it scares me a lot" I talked to him until his mom got home so I knew he was safe, the doctor gave him medication again and he was good to go. Two years passed and then he decided he wanted to go into Neurology and he got accepted into the most important hospital in the country, that was in another city so that meant he had to live on his own for the first time in his life, and get another doctor there, I called to congratulate him a week before he left, that was on February, we made plans to see each other in July.... he died in May.
Why do I think this is important?
1. My friend didn't look sad, he was always smiling, he gave the warmest, longest hugs and when he told me he was sick I was shocked that he had been going through this for three years without anyone noticing.
2. He was very aware of his disease and he knew he had a lot to be happy about. So this proves that it can happen to anyone and is not about feeling sad for a certain situation, like getting bad grades or having a breakup. Its not something you fix by "focusing on the good things".
3. Another friend was feeling weird and she told me she was trying to "shake those feelings off" until he remembered R and decided it was best to seek for help, she was diagnosed with anxiety and started getting treatment.
4. Another one told us he was feeling very bad, like if he was not being himself, and that he was thinking about going to a psychiatrist, because he was scared of going through what R went.
5. I miss R everyday and he left a huge hole to fill, and there are so many things that remind me of him and that I wish I was able to tell him right know but at least he opened the eyes of the ones that were close to him and made a few of us do and internal check up and actually pushed others to get help.

My message for you who read this is dont be ashamed of asking for help and dont make others feel ashamed, encourage people to know that the mind gets sick too, just like the heart, and the stomach and any other ***** in your body. R knew people loved him, R knew he was lucky to have the life he had and still his mind and his depression made him think it was not worth it to keep on living.
Its been a year since he left and he is still making impact on all of us who where lucky enough to know him
Kate ***** and Anthony Bourdain
both beloved affluential cognoscenti,
     (took their life via cerebral hypoxia)
     neither death can one explain

left family and friends to speculate
     without lapsing into speculation
     impossible knot
     to veer off toward inane,

where fame nor fortune no immunity
     against unbeknownst
     deathly accursed mental illness
     impact their adherents

     plus affect large swath
     of population in the main
cuz, (strictly my opinion)
     the tightly woven

     world wide web doth plain
lee meld humanity linkedin
     by avast societal reign
forcing the global community to train

energies toward heightened
     awareness (yes in vain)
for those who tightened noose around neck
     as grief doth wax and wane

no doubt less prominant persons
     amidst every walk
of life give admittance
     to grim reaper, who doth stalk

every mortal being tempting surrender soul
     for eternal peace, where soul asylum
     sacrifice forsaken to black hawk
swooping down soundlessly

     to ****** priceless human life
     subsequently, whence
     benumbed onlookers gawk
aware how precarious, riotous, and tenuous
     the psyche offers no resistance,
     nor doth balk

at absent awareness,
     how collective adoration wears
a funereally ghostly, horribly immensely
     joylessly knitted veil

eludes measurement, though nonetheless
     unanimity that far reaching sadness
     weighs heavy on tear filled side of scale
witnessed by grievous next of kin,

     who struggle to accept severe de rail
ment of unsuspecting hidden agony im pail
ling corporeal flesh gouging body electric
     on par with a nine inch nail

jaggedly renting asunder (an unseen male
strum) pitching one incognito,
     no matter she/he appears hearty and hale
leaving a wake of inconsolable paroxysms
     causing thee human league to ail!
Give it to me, its what I want.
From you, from work, my friends, the world.
Everyone must know that I exist.  
That I made an impact.
My soul didn't just drift away on the wind.
When the lights finally fizzled out
like a match being dropped in a glass of ***** water, something remained. I remained.
    I was a explosion on the timeline, an etching in the granite, not a smudge on a whiteboard.
   Wearing capes and guns, young boys acted out my adventures. Diving behind the couch to avoid the laser bombs exploding from every direction.  Shooting into the darkness at the beasts I have conquered.  Their mothers secretly wishing they could have me alone, fathers wishing they could have my
strength, courage, resolve.
  Giving in to mediocrity is when you are
so sick of painting your house that you leave it beige. 
 You open the filing cabinet again and again, shuffling your dreams in to "to dos" or "another day" category.
At some point you have to admit that you will never be a famous potter, sculptor, wood worker, MC, writer or poet. No one is going to ever read that piece you sent to the New Yorker after reading that article about Anthony Bourdain's success at 44 years old.
You are not him,
you are not that good.

I thought it would be different when I went.
I thought they would have remembered
more of what I did but the truth is they don't.
They won't.
What even makes me-me?  ? Its all bled into the crack of the sidewalk where I fell and broke my mind,
all those years ago.

But wait.
Its not over.
The hairs on the back of my neck spark like a rush of warm air in the summer night. They stand up straight when I think about the two humans we have created. They are hope.
I may not be the best but I am not the worst.
I will resonate throughout the ages through the life I have created
I am immortal
I am a father
Greatness has been achieved.
Significance has been gained.
The ego can rest.

for now
Keith W Fletcher Jun 2018
The news of late
Seems to amply relate
The quandary...
... so many wrestle with
In fixated perspicacious denial
Of just what happiness means
Serenity.... Viability ?
Financial security...solvency?

While what matters goes unsolved
Because we are ...so involved
In seeing only the success
They express....not the stress
They repress for us..
..the adoring public...

Caught up in our thinking
That we wish we were them.
Perfection in the reflection
Of the lucky ones who have it made.

So why do so many...
...take themselves out
When they could have stayed?

I do wonder...where we all would fall
Were we to seem to have it all
The life that they attain ..that persona
they maintain
That no one...it seems  
can really see beyond
It too often doesn't dawn
Upon...me

To notice the human strain ...
....the common pain, that we see
so easily in each other.
I never saw it and I am so sorry...
And will miss you, Anthony Bourdain.
Farewell..Brother.
May you rest in peace .
Wing412 Jun 2018
To my Anthony Bourdain,

It has been a few hours since I heard the news, thanks to the almighty world wide web, I am too afraid to even look at my phone, I do not want to read about it, I do not want to believe that it is true, I cannot believe that it is true.

You are my idol, my hero, who opened my eyes not only to the culinary world, but to the parts unknown, you always go the extra mile, take the extra bite, or did you take too much?

I am so sorry that you have chosen this path, I cannot fathom what you have been through, I am only sorry for your sorrows, the depth of that sorrow, despair, loneliness while being surrounded by so many things happening, or whatever whoever likes to put it, I am sure there are no words to describe what kind of situation you were in, I am just sorry, I hope it is not what you want to bring us, to inspire us that drove you there, because, what you brought us was amazing.

I’d like to imagine maybe you are somewhere downing ***** shots, thinking, “**** what have I done? Oh, well” and down another shot, wherever you are, I would like to say, thank you, my chef.
I'm sick to my stomach and I don't understand why
here comes the frenzy after the movies
places you want to see
burning through my legacy
lock horns with the coroner at the morgue

sweat of my brow
the faint of a cow
that's how we roll
let the truth be told

stuffed inside your mold
love lingers on with the faint of a song
happy to be a rooster on a roller coaster
music is getting louder

having my clam with chowder
something in my folder
tell you when I get a bit older
takes you by surprise

leave behind those satanic lies
bridges being crossed
we stand alone in the stream
living in a land so very mean

coupled with a bit of tender laughter
prepared for the great hereafter
there is more
remember Studio 64

****** in the gym
one **** over the line & then
mother superior bought the gun bang bang shoot shoot
a bit of fun under the gun

now Bourdain is dead
what was going on inside his head
he would even eat the dead
suicidal

could we get some answers
could we attempt to understand
how we stick it to the man with the plan
hearts are uneasy the trip is so long

this is the end of my favorite song
Thoughts on Saturday

I saw the Queen of England on TV it was her birthday and people
were out waving flags.  I dislike monarchy in any form
but the Queen looked splendid in a blue sky dress
and there were proud men in fantasy uniforms
riding on  beautiful horses; no one does
pageant better than the English.
But my heart was not in it, I still lament
the death of Bourdain it was like losing a brother
like me, he was a chef that broke out of the kitchen
and ventured the world.
I have written a poem about my brother's struggle
with depression but hesitate to publish it
as it might offend his children. Of course, I could
have avoided the absolute truth, but then I would have
done him a disservice. I'm still in Algarve, the removal van broke down it will take a few days to repair it not that I mind moving house,
at my age is difficult.
O well, I have to relax and take it as it comes.
James Floss Jun 2018
Yesterday, I was not a nice person
An entire episode of that

Apologies being crafted
Strategies hopefully drafted

A. Bourdain?
It was a trigger

Why I love travel
My best times with you

Showed us everywhere
Bonds we all share

Crass, adorable, unlikeable
(Self reflection there)

I didn’t suffer loss well
A man behaving badly

I was awful to my travel companion
No excuses; apology?

— The End —