The low sun glitters on the waters that flow through the narrow avenues of the city, which, from his vantage on the high veranda, creates a gilded mesh between the pastel buildings. The air is rich with citrus and rum. Orange trees dip their branches into the flooded streets. Creepers sprout their flowers up the sides of the houses. Birds dance and dive between the avenues. Boats glide over the aquamarine currents. People chat. Iced wine is poured.
Below the winking gold watches and crisp, white linen suits, there are other things. Monkeys sit in tiny cages. Brown packages are passed discreetly between nervous hands. Stacks of marked crates are loaded onto row boats to be pushed through the darkness of the flooded train tunnels. In tiny, dark apartments, bombs are made by sweating fingers. Under forbidden flags, bitter words construct ideas to the mechanical click of rifles being assembled.
The pianist whistles the finale of his gentle song, as the waiter drops a note onto his ivory.
Paddy Dobson
15th June 2022