dusk on a friday night and i’m here on my balcony with a book, just one more sitting away from being done with this whole Hannibal Lecter project, and the sky to my left (east) is deep blue arcing paler and paler over the sky toward a pink and orange glow in the west.

over the past couple hours i’ve seen people trotting up from the sidewalk with grocery bags and now you can smell from the courtyard, intermixed, the bacon from one kitchen and the steak from another. onions sharpest of all. mojo. arroz con pollo and ropa vieja and all sorts of rice. sautees hissing and sparking through the slatted windows in every kitchen door and children down below going in lazy circles on skateboards. their conversation bored and ponderous.

i wrote through the morning and watched Deliverance in the afternoon. skipped breakfast and had a sandwich for lunch. read a third of this novel in one comfortable and undisturbed sitting with my hair flicking and stirring at the wind.

and now, from everywhere, the smells and sounds of dinner. the look of the day as it winds itself back toward dark. and me over here just tryna pay attention.