Tuesday, April 8, 2008


In rainy Tangier everyone is hiding behind those big plaid umbrellas. I refuse to carry them because they insist on making a mockery of me, turning tricks for everyone to see, insides outside and downsides upturned, basking in the wetness from above and the wet mess it makes of me.

There is some secret fun to be had- rain fashions are the most entertaining. Old women wrap themselves in yellow plastic ponchos as though they are about to cross the strait, boys and men are tucked into hoods like Eskimos or skaters (sk8rz), and the women manage to keep their spiky heels on with no issue. I enter the scene like some sort of sea creature, blinded by the steaming lenses of her glasses and lack of reason.

Even still, Suleiman insisted this morning, in English
“If I were already young, I swear, I would just sit next to you…all day. I would never get up.”
I wanted to ask,
“What if I get up?” but he whisked away with his tray of mint tea, a delightful compliment to the rainy season.

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