7 August 2009. Linda mañana. Open skies to the east, shimmering gold on blue.
An older woman with aluminum cane just to my side in the coffee line, reaches across my wrist to a box filled with bright crimson foil-wrapped chocolates. I approve of her choice. Then she, in a soft and very British English: "I'm not supposed to. I'm diabetic, you know. But I'll die happy..." Again reaching, to almost touch my arm...
"...where the pleasures are few." Lines from a song--Merle Travis, at night, in his car somewhere in LA, sitting under a streetlamp, lady friend alongside--scribbling out the lines to a song...
Or the Argentine, father and daughter together on a stage. His enveloping presence--her wonderfully almost-innocent confidence. To make a place for this in the world...
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