I live downtown, above the Agneau Grille, a Tunisian restaurant. Tasty lamb requires no passport.
Restaurants, bars, small shops behind aging facades. Banners welcoming returning students, faded flyers in windows.
Outside, cool autumn air. Cigarette butts on sidewalk – tokens of indifference, rebellion. I smile, lighting a Lucky Strike.
A fat man walks by, eyeing a bakery’s cherry pie. The bakers are brothers, nicknamed the Pie Men. They do everything together.
A scone and a cup of kona to go. Real kona, but Hawaiian means something else to the Pie Men, Ronnie and Donnie. They seem almost sober.