We toured the chocolatiers, I on his arm enchanted by Easter. The magnolia trees held back some musty mention of death. The old Jewish quarter, quiet as a bell empty but for fishmongers and a busker
I dream of thin veined children pulsing through cartiledge corridors. They want water and cigarettes, crush coke cans with their feet. Some of them have faces of people I have known, some of them are auditioning for bit parts in my future.