the-first-day-of-winter,-300pm,-ceuta

 I HAD NO ENGAGEMENT til four o' cock, so that I had an hour and a half to spare; and when I was in the street, I started, more or less instinctively, to roam. I knew the dog wouldn't be there, since it was too hot this time of day when shade doesn't protect the hillside. This half kilometer stretch of parkway, obscured by the foot of the Looming Bridge had been walled off for construction. Not it's own construction.The footpath south was being oiled and scraped, and the lawn in front, there was new pip being laid down. Each construction site had employed the same huge tarp barries, painted with orange arrows and numbers. You could get in by climbing down the staircase on the opposite side of the bridgefoot. the street ran, with tarps fanning out to each side and wadeing four or five meters out into the ocean. The So I had this place where I could go, and if I got there at the right time I could sit in the shadows from black stalks of the unfinished bridge. Or I could roam. I hopped along riffraff under the cement platform at the streets tail, sat down on a rocky slab, and with my feet in the water I started smoking the little palm. And watching The Continent shiver and mumble in the joint's thermal mirage. Dull borwn streaked with white and black. at some point I thought it was crawling. And then it was crawling.