Three young Georgian men, all named Giorgi.

Giorgi

These are the Three Giorgis. They are not a singing trio, or they didn’t sing for me. But with faces like these, if they could sing, they’d be famous.

I was leaning over the cemetery fence shooting photos, when the guy in the middle, Giorgi, interrupted and introduced himself. I introduced myself, Christy. Giorgi introduced me to his friend Giorgi, as well as to Giorgi, his other friend. One of the other Giorgis, the one missing from the second photo, asked me to take a picture, which I did, as you can see. Also, he asked to shoot a photo of me between the other two Giorgis.

At other times I would have worried about my camera running off without me, as I was held fast between two, to me, large Giorgis I didn’t know. But Giorgi the Shooter, the one with my camera, didn’t look the sort who’d take off on me, and besides, as it happened, I was sporting my racing Birkenstocks. Giorgi took a nice picture, even if I appear somewhat pale with trepidation in it.

Me, flanked by Giorgis.

We parted friends, but not before the farthest left Giorgi friended me on Facebook, of which I am proud.

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