Dust. Dust everywhere. Dust up the river. Dust in the counting houses. Dust atop the rooftops and down the chimneys. Dust creeping into the collier-brigs, dust settling between the toes of the subway captain, and above in the yards of a great (and dusty) city. The fortune cookie that accompanied the newsboy’s take-out Beef Chow Fun last night read, EXPECT VACUUMING. The photographer dreads dust the way vampires (old school) fear garlic. He glides in across his dusty parquet like a thief and is put in mind of astronauts doing their bouncy-bouncy across the Mare Tranquillitatis, clouds of lunar poussière rising to envelope them to their shins.
Out of dust we are taken and to dust we shall return, at least until Monday. We had hoped The Garum Factory would be back to a full production schedule by now, the TGF team happily lounging about the factory terrace overlooking the Adriatic as we lunched alfresco on Burnt Wheat Cavatelli. What babes in the wiring woods we were! I’m afraid the enforced interregnum continues, at least until next Friday’s post, when all we have to fear are the painters.
We. Will. Be. Back.
Jody returns next week, perhaps with something to say about her trip to Haiti. Until then, relish your dust-free life. You don’t know what you’ve got ’til it’s gone.
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