Marketplace

The five of us sat in Ljubljana on a Sunday when the news had shifted something underneath. I should say who we were, since none of this means anything without that. Luka is a friend I've known long enough to stop performing around - steady, unhurried, the kind of person who listens more than he promises. The other two are both named Maja, which has become a small running joke among us: one Maja listens, turning things over slowly before she speaks; the other Maja builds, already halfway to a plan before the rest of us have caught up. Between the two of them and the occasional mention of my own hopes and doubts, we sometimes say there are "four Majas" in the room, though there are really only two - it's just that the feeling of being heard can double itself that way. And then there was me.