On the edge of the Faubourg Marigny I find a wonderful little park, Washington Square Park, a beautiful swath of green among the built up neighborhood. It is finally bright and warm, appropriate as it is Sunday, and the park is full of people, parents and grand parents with kids, young Bohemians sitting on the grass, strumming away on guitars, and everyone has a dog.
An off duty cook stands watching from the shade of an elderly tree. A cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other, he sways front to back and I wonder what his story is. I have just put together a grand tragedy for him when a beautiful young woman arrives, kisses him and takes his hand as they walk into the sun together. I am happy for him, but my story is demolished.
The sun begins to slide into the west and the shadows begin their advance across the open ground, pushing the people further and further from where I sit. A block away a woman yells, "I hate you," and then, "Liar!"