It started very usual: B. and me agreed to go out Saturday night (starting with 9 p.m.). Then she called and said, M. (an old paintist, great guy) wanted to invite us for a dinner. On the way to me, they met friends of M. with the little child and they of course were also invited.
The guys were great: H., about 60, a famous professor of Orientalistic, S., in my age, Persian, and their unbeleivable happy 1,5 years old daughter. Unfortunately, our great conversation was interrupted because the little lady was tired (which is normal :)) - so H. invited us three to a dinner a day after.
It was just great, I don't know how exactly our conversation started - somewhen it was current political situation, don't ask why we jumped to dialectic materialism, then Hegel, Platon (and Socrates), took the curve to Shakespeare and Marcel Proust... H. can't stand Tchaikovsky... And we ended up in the stories of our lives...
M. and me left late (B. did not feel good, so she went just after dinner), we went to his house and had a glas of wine. I love one very special painting of him - unfortunately, it looses so much of its expression in a digital form... It has a very special shine, this kind of magic that captivates you...
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