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  • I learned something about friendship from that small gesture, observed at a distance. We stopped in for lunch at a little nook of a place in Chania. We were the only tourists. A small table of men were the only locals. They seemed to drink more from the sweating pitcher of ubiquitous Cretan rosé than they ate from the small, communal plates of mezedes that lay scattered before them.

    Never was a glass poured that all four glasses weren’t filled. Never was a first sip taken that they didn’t raise their glasses in unison and meet in the middle all at once in a toast. At one point I looked up to see one of their tribe leave the table to use the restroom. In his absence another round was poured and his empty glass was filled along with the others. In his absence another toast was had, and after the remaining three met in the middle they turned, each and all and once, and clinked their glass against his.
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