Again it is Nov 3 13 as it was last night, and finally I am by myself.  I brought Marquez as pictured on the back cover of Cholera so to see the world instead through his eyes rather than the hopeless bottomless newspaper, where personal tragedy is made international to mask international tragedy, and where impossibly numerous fascinating inquiries run my poor empty-handed mind in circles. the book review this week, my Cassandra self cannot look, is it, is it, is it better not to look?  She mulls it over roundly behind her tight fingerblinds.

Meanwhile Marquez and I are happy to sit unmoving in the seaside afternoon heat, our wrists flopped from the aluminum arms of our lounge chairs, reciting the imagined thoughts of passers-by to each other.  Oh the hats we see.