The People You Meet

His name was Almos. A few days ago we stopped to get a bite to eat at a Pho stall on our way to Ho Chi Min's Mausoleum. Almos rolled up on a Honda Dream moped with his his white hair tinted a subtle shade of pink. He was a Hungarian man living and working in Hanoi. I guessed his age to be somewhere in the late sixties to early seventies. Nathan and I had just started slurping down our soups when Almos plopped down beside us. He was clearly there to meet a woman at the next table, thirty to forty years his junior, but was distracted by us. It became clear the woman he was meeting was his wife when he started barking orders at her to practice her English.
I don't know how Almos did it, but within 45 seconds he had Nathan talking sustainable energy and conservation techniques. It was at this moment that things took a turn towards twilight zone. Nathan used the expression 'low hanging fruit' to describe something and Almos nearly jumped out of his skin with excitement.
'Low hanging FRUIT! This is brilliant! I must remember this expression! LOW HANGING FRUIT!'
From his enthusiasm you might have thought Nathan had revealed the meaning of life. In exchange for his newly acquired nugget of language gold, Almos did something interesting. He pulled out what appeared to be a collage completed by a middle school student, photocopied in black and white. He had a stack of them, and handed both Nathan and I each a copy.
'What do you think of this!? Please give me your honest impressions.'
The image as best I can explain: two horses face to face, one had reins being held by a teen girl wearing a leather outfit, cowboy hat and a belly shirt that Almos must have thought in poor taste because he covered her mid-drift with black marker.
Naturally we were both at a loss for words. Silence lingered as we tried to figure out what was going on while also appearing to thoughtfully appreciate the 'art'.
I broke the silence. 'Almos, what is this... And why do you have dozens of copies in your bag?'
Thankfully my query was not taken as insulting. Almos went on to tell a long winded tale (twenty minutes at least) of a tortured artist named  'Cowboy' who looked just like the woman in the picture. He was trying to gather objective comments about the image to report back to the artist. It was unclear whether the artist in question knew of Almos's project, or for that matter..Almos.
'Also, you'd never guess it by looking at the picture, but the two horses are actually in love.' He finished.
We sat with Almos for almost two hours. He spent five minutes inexpertly blowing snot through a nose flute, then handed it over to Nathan insisting he give it a blow. I am certain the grimace of disgust at sharing nose mucus with Almos showed on both of our faces.. but Nathan was a good sport.
Almos gave us his wife's cell phone number and made us promise to call them and either come to their house or meet them out for dinner before leaving Hanoi. We left the restaurant with smiles and hand shakes.
Last night Nathan and I went out to dinner and while talking about recent adventures realized neither one of us had spoken a word about Almos to the other.
'Something was wrong with that guy.' Nathan offered.
We both had a good chuckle... We've met enough nut jobs that Almos almost missed the cut as a topic of conversation. I kept their phone number in my pocket..and we're still deciding whether or not to call them.  On some level it seems a good idea.  It would certainly make for an interesting and unpredictable evening.  The possible down side of being swindled in some way, or captured in a Hungarian man's basement might not be enough to dissuade either of us from digging a little deeper.
Will update.