We see artificial peace replacing unavailable reality.

People will keep their jobs.

Skirmishes will lose their fuel.

This. Or, something all-surprising.

Violet light sprawling out of a forest of food vendors.

Every year this festival is predictably different.

We await the surprise of sameness and familiarity.

Trembling calm and a fixed view. Perhaps.

Steps rattled and echoed in the narrow cobblestone street.

Lovers stole kisses like kleptomaniacs-in-training.

At the square confessions-over-coffee abounded.

Some towns have all the luck and good lighting.

We are sitting in the middle of a moment’s pause.

We can’t see end to end.

There are floating point decimal flowers and marzipan.

At every corner peddlers offer a different color plastic elephant.

After a while we see a Tourist Information office and we take evasive action.

They were known as the best.

A baker.

A local doctor.

A painter

A metal worker.

They knew each other and met for savoury pastries every second Monday of every second month.