People I know visit Tallinn, often. I do too, but not to hangout with them. Because conversations can easily resemble those that take place in a staff room, with certain groups intent on the jargon that eludes most multilinguals.
I visit Tallinn to have a conversation with my neighbour, whom I often avoid meeting at the corridors of our building. Because the thin walls of the city boxes we live in transmit all sorts. I usually resort to catching glimpses of her comings and goings through a peephole. I suspect she does the same.
But on a ferry to Tallinn, we suddenly have a lot to talk about as empty bottles of champers sway to the rhythm of ocean waves, and with our voices matching the sound of live music. We lose all inhibitions. We are away from home.
note: This short story (140 words) is a response to the prompt, Away from Home, for Telling Tales with Magaly Guerrero; a Pantry of Prose.