Living in a City (this one)

Jazz is the soul of a city.
We went to hear live jazz last night at 11:30. As we walked out the door of the Shelter City, Eileen turned one way and Marga the other. “Why not this way?” asked Marga. “No, I don’t want to go that way- it’s dirty,” said Eileen, and she meant the strip of the red light district that is right around the corner from the hostel. We snaked our way through the streets a different way. I walked with Ronald, a visiting friend, who told me about Tunisia as we past coffeeshops and wide-eyed tourists.
We sat in the bar for an hour or two- talking about travels and drinking coffee and tea. It would have been better with the red-faced owner if we had gotten beers, but we’ve promised not to. Only an espresso to go with my music tonight, dank u vel. The singer is Dutch perhaps, but her song is Sinatra. We decide that to be a real jazz singer you must stop washing your hair- I’m well on my way! The music is wonderful, well, not wonderful musically, but just because it’s being played at all. I sometimes feel like this is a dream- living and working in this different place, but the jazz music made me feel as though I am really here in this city.
Marga and I left early, about 1 am, and went straight through the district to walk back. It is so full of movement. In LA, on Sunset Boulevard when the prostitutes work, they are the ones that move constantly- 6 or 7 women who hover over their corners, never stopping to be talked to. Here, it’s the men that move. They walk fast and constantly through the streets, surrounded by the glow of neon lights from all the rooms. It is a show, a show that you can touch. It’s really dark there. As we walked quickly through the crowds, I caught a glimpse of a swan swimming peacefully in the middle of the canal. It doesn’t fit- this innocence in the middle of so much dirt.