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Selection 15 of
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It was cold and gray that entire week in Montreal. Every breath formed a small wispy Cloud. My new leather boots startled the Veined cobblestones at the city square as I Walked in quick strides in an attempt to Reduce the freeze. It was the flea market season. The city center was alive with street artistes, Buggies, make-shift food stalls, and the Flea market. The air was pregnant with horse Manure smells in one direction and tempting Aromas from the food stalls in the other. Bought 6 intricate cut-glass wine Glasses for 4 dollars Canadian from the Man with tired nut-brown eyes next to the Organ grinder. He neatly wrapped them in last Month's newspapers and I gingerly Carried them in a cloth bag through Crowds that were looking for something - Anything that could be a bargain. I only use them during Christmas. Hunger from the cold clawed at my insides and I Ate steaming Tibetan Momos to the tune of Peruvian folk music played by a band of Four at the main street corner. The only Colorful spots on the horizon were their bright-colored Sombreros. The music lingered as I crossed the Corner onto the other side of the street. Lingered and beckoned. I yielded to the strains – crossed the street again, And bought a tape with their music. Back Home in Toronto, I played the tape, the Music cracked up in parts. Bad recording. Maybe bad quality tape. It's been 6 years since. That band of four remain in my Memory, their lightweight gray cotton coats to ward off the Chill and the wind, playing tunes through Cracked lips and fingers blue-edged From the cold. Did they ever yearn for the High clouds drifting over the Andes? |
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Selection 15 of
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