They take photos as if one frame; one moment in time can
begin to embody the soul. Royal Parisian
crests melded into cast iron and painted in a gooey tar black. The underbelly
of balconies holding up rusty chains dangling with tangled manes of drooping
green strands. The grey humidity weighs down saunters. A liberating slow
motion; there’s no reason to move when the city lives on every block. The ones
who do it right walk without intention. To feel the thigh stretch as their
heels go click, their boots go clomp or their sandals go nick nack. The circus
cruises by the circus in a gluttonous red bus that boasts “Hop on, Hop off,
Enjoy!” Snap, Snap. Snap, Snap. The scenery changes like a scrolling film. One
image after the next. Seen, but not observed. There’s too much so we pretend
there’s too little. Too little of the inside of the inside and the outside of
the outside; the inside of the outside and the outside of the inside. Just too
much, certainly not worth our time! Snap! Hop on the bus. Snap! Hop off the
bus. Snap! Order food. Snap! Get a drink. Snap! All the while a gaping internal
space; as big as the universe; stagnates like the slow whirl of twigs and
wrappers in a salty brown pool. And then, it’s over.
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