man in a panama hat, linen jacket, and red handkerchief completes the crossword puzzle calmly amidst the yelling of vietnamese grocers and the sharp, fast gossip of the old algerians having sweet coffees in tight knit cliques. the african queens promenade in their brightly colored boubous, head wraps tightly knotted, chests and wrists glittering with golden jewelry, lips glittering with juicy looking lipsticks. they hold themselves like statues, but sensually, unable to work past the perfect curves of their ample bodies. babies snooze heavily wrapped to their backs in sweaty bundles. on the corner, old women beg with silent children. their clothes and feet are dirty, they manhandle the babies who try to crawl off. they proffer small paper cups. they accuse with their eyes and their sad skin. the chestnuts don't care, and the pollen floats down in white fluffs, clotting with the garbage in the gutters and collecting at the sticky edges of the streams of urine that network the sidewalk. yelling children on scooters, african muslim men in long robes and leather slippers, punks from the banlieue with heavily gelled hair and tight black jeans. arguing couple, he has a long dragon that writhes down his arm. she wears leggings, the corners of something sharp in her plastic bags catch on the edges of them, she rails choppily, doesn't look at him.

head of broccoli, four apples, three red peppers, six eggs (large), chèvre frais, two ground beef patties, three beets with lush greens, an aubergine


hanna leaves for good in a week, we drink a bottle of wine and pierce each others ears with a hatpin. the neighbors are made to suffer german opera and endless laughter. the basil leaves make soft rubbing noises against each other in the breeze, the candle gutters and puts itself out, twirling a vine of smoke up, then out.