Eat, Pray, Love

next. Maybe his wife, Ann, will come and join him here. Then again—maybe not. What’s here
for her? Their young marriage, conducted now entirely by e-mail, is on the rocks. He’s so out
of place here, so disoriented. He’s more of an American than he is anything else; Yudhi and I
use the same slang, we talk about our favorite restaurants in New York and we like all the
same movies. He comes over to my house in the evenings and I get him beers and he plays
me the most amazing songs on his guitar. I wish he were famous. If there was any fairness,
he would be so famous by now.
He says, “Dude—why is life all crazy like this?”
Eat, Pray, Love