VII

Place Winston Churchill is a small rectangular square of classical geometrical design in the heart of town. In the centre of it, a proud erection of a monument, pompously glorifies the fallen heroes of the Great War. Benches and lawns are positioned circularly around. On the lawns, the dogs do their business and on the benches the schoolboys & girls do theirs. They belong to the adjacent Lycée Saint Rémi. Amongst the children, we find our man. He’s doing nobody’s business. He is making charcoal drawing of the twisted soldiers on the monument, studying the names of the dead sons over & over and watching the hordes of youths while drinking tequila-flavoured beer.

C sharp. Heaven thanks for sun and warmth, France and beer. To sit here in this park in precise and controllable restlessness. All is quiet. All is safe. A minor. The way those girls are smoking… only French girls smoke like that, with heron grace and pouted ruggedness. C. The way they manipulate hold their cigarettes and blow smoke heaven high, incense for the pillar angel of death. A minor. What painful beauty… how vulnerably joyful. Like castles made of icing sugar. B minor. Just drink up and feel the warmth. F. Don’t look now. Don’t think. Don’t blink like crazy. D minor. Time passes and passes, the sunlight materializes on the people. E flat. A bridge of broken strings. IPhones from Van Diemen’s Land. A.