Kiraly Utca in the morning,
the construction workers stand
at the tiny bufe chewing sandwiches,
eyeing the women walking to work, up and down, unblinking.
A man vomits into a nearby planter.
Pressure's washing the sidewalk.
Too much to buy, without money I'm nothing.
The lithe and tan bodies.
In the shade the scent of dust and cleanser washes me.
A last check before emerging.
The sensual relaxed walk of a woman who senses and emits her beauty.
Interlocked, she walks with her boyfriend.
Her ring finger bare. A hybrid form.
A moment of quiet then the measured meter of footsteps.
A headturn, evaluating, rating, memorizing.
A call from Csaba on the mobile.
He asks, "are you drunk?" I wish, my reply.
Dressed in black she swings her arm, thinks of love.
Casual, the rays of sunshine that gently shift and divide the acacia leaves.
Time check. Flowers in a basket.
A red dress, loose and gauzy, sails past me on a bicycle.
Another second of quiet.
Then the drilling begins again.
"It's Time For a Pie"
says the truck's facade.