At the end of March the clean air came. We rushed to the market with its squirming frogs and mysterious tails and sad, battered porcupines. With the women in furs and the bags leeching blood and the smokers shelling mussels on the floor. Just blocks away was the fashion and the fierceness and the crush of youth and money. The colors were brighter and it all felt like someplace where we could live and breathe and watch the city spin. I can't remember when the clear air left but eventually we went back inside. Everyone else just kept on moving.
