The heat. The summer.

feeling flaubert's passion and melting from madame bovary's femininity... hot summer night on church ave. and 4th street. listening to the flamboyant puerto rican check out girl shout at the orthodox jew trying to bargain down the pre-picked cherries versus the loose ones. the chaos of the open air market at the golden farm is packed, while the neater, more organized fresh farm is empty. lines outside where the bangledeshi girls giggle and play with their saris and the mexican boys whistle and play with their lip pierces. I get on my newly repaired steel horse which is still too heavy and an old neighbor shouts at me to smile and come say hello. I smile but keep going.