An open doorway carries Arab pop (trilling voices, synthesizer) through it, and in the dusty 3 foot square front yard, a Franco-Morroccan toddler sits on his Spiderman trike, wearing an 80's beach-vollyeball style-cap (goofy flat brim), tracing circles in the dirt with his Batman umbrella with one hand, and holding a cookie in the other.
I left Avignon yesterday, but not before going to le boy's parents house with le boy and my two cool roommates in tow. We drank rosé champagne, and then a light red and then a heavy red, and we ate tuna salad in tomato cups, roast chicken and mashed potato croquettes, and apricot tart. I turned the hose on my cool roommate who was "trop mec" (too manly) to help clear the table. Le boy later ambushed me with the same hose. Lesson learned: Le boy is one of them. Sisters, let us stay evermore vigilant. March on, march on, we shall quench the thirst of our bayonets with the blood of the impure. (That last one is a line from the French national hymn. Quelle violence!)
I wasn't sad to leave Avignon, because the time had come. I wasn't sad either to leave my roommates, since I know they'll be coming to "Lahs Ahnge-ah-las" to visit.
Weekend in Lyon, and I went to a FREE Joan as Policewoman concert in the open-air Roman amphitheater. Antony and the Johnsons, the headliners, had cancelled, so tickets were refunded and Joan as played a full full set anyway. March on, march on, the show must go on!
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
is your post title a broadside in my direction?
I'd call it a literary reference.
aw thanks
Post a Comment