First coldish afternoon today. A nice sharp cold, with low hanging clouds. Grey. Touched of rain. Deserted gymnasium, Oyuna looking bored and rolling up tablecloths.
Came through the arch to home to see a child of perhaps two or three crouching, pants down, in front of the apartment block. He/she reached for a rock to wipe with. The face was dirty enough that the child probably was one of the people who live in the tiny cement block houses that W initially thought were trash disposal units and opened the door to one of them to put the trash in. These are the people who go through our trash for bottles. There is one woman with a festival of wrinkles on her face who is always quite friendly when we pass her sorting through the muck. The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I’ve ever had.