Dada 60

In town the shows would had all started and the Chinese would be making money. I suppose like with all money makers you have to work for it. Only the shopkeepers and a few cats were left in the street. They looked a bit like me. The sky was clear but not very bright above the cypress trees that separated the water from the street. On the pavement opposite, the tobacconist had brought out a chair. He put it in front of his door and straddled it, resting both arms on its back the way Dada used to do. The buses that had been jam-packed just a short while ago were now almost empty. In one of the little cafes ', next to the tobacco shop, the waiter was sweeping up and clearing down the tables in an almost empty dining room.

I loved strolling home at this quiet time. It was even better because I knew that next Sunday I would be free. Every other week was the deal. It was like having money in the bank. I had my pockets full from a little clandestine trading with the boat people myself. Our apartment was empty but that suited me, like Dada I enjoyed the space and besides I knew the others like Old Srino and Iskra were holed up in their own little rooms and they were my neighbours after all.

Dada would turn his chair around the way the tobacconist did because he found it more comfortable like that when he got tired of standing. He’d  smoke his  cigarettes, and then go  inside for a piece of chocolate and would come back and stand  next to the iron railings  to chew a piece, get some sugar inside him and then shout some more.

‘Chocolate and women are good for my throat’ he said.