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like elsewhere: schools that bored kids to death, filthy police stations with stinking jails, roughshod whorehouses, dens of local thugs, rebels, drug lords, corrals of small-time pirates, sea gypsies, with the occasional paranoid army patrol, to show who was in charge, nervous rifles gripped at murderous angles, of pill boxes and barracks, of garages for the less badly off, of fishing net poles, the drying nets strung up - wiped away by a finger sunk with that trace that you, man, that you, woman, child, young, middle-aged, old, had ever actually been there, or what you made, what thing you made out of sweat and desire, hope, anger, 
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love, cunning,
envy, will, now taken back at a shudder of the earth that brought forth each one of us in a freak mood: spinning gossamer in a pail of sun, then washing it out with a hose when the thunders come. And the survivors (this time there were survivors) are stunned. 3. Sea Gypsies They gather at the edge, where the sea foam turns to granite. Why tarry now? There's nothing to note, no scarves, no violins,  |
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