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Isaac's first real food was a piece of potato from Timothy's puri bhaji plate, late one morning in December. Timothy had rubbed off the spicy parts and was feeding his son like a baby bird, pulling the potatoes off his plate and placing the little pieces into his baby's pink, open mouth. Linus was late, as usual. None of them kept a schedule, really, but Isaac wouldn't be happy forever, he would need to go back to the room and sleep soon, and Timothy wanted to talk to Linus.
There he was now, walking to the thali place with his guitar in his hands. He stopped for a minute and plucked a series of notes, then continued on, waving to some of the taxi drivers as he passed them. "Deo boro dees due!" Timothy heard him call. Good morning in Konkani. All the taxi drivers, the restaurant owner
