Chapter 01: Thin Cities 01

In this thin city, population 60,000 and keeping low with rivers swirling around it like steel knives in a steel pan, thin is just right.

Weeds have been sneaking into gardens in recent years. I see them climbing the walls of a famous colonial building across a square surrounded by elegant pink hotels and restaurants. Where I used to buy vegetables, men stand in stalls peeling fruit with back-and-sides of lime as fragrant as peaches in Florida. I hear its aroma now, though, not like any perfume that comes from any fruited state.

Some unseen ghosts linger too. I watch with a trepidation as one widower whispers to the love of his youth as she fumbles with purses as dark as the velvet touch of his hand. Perhaps it was her long silken hair he loved the most, trailing after her in the quiet of nights, when she woke him from his dreams with kisses for words. Perhaps those kisses have fallen to the ground, to be plucked and preserved for all eternity. In that case, I wonder if the memories will finally dry up too. The language he speaks now reminds me of that other time when the world seemed as precarious as weeds.