March 3rd, 2016

A thin Italian-comedy man with patient difficulty and ironic urbane manner opens the door while a dauschund in one hand and a coffee in the other. Inside, he holds the lid of his coffee in his teeth and adds milk to open cup. The dauschund, weightless, looks at me and others. The man bald, intelligent-eyed, the weak chin and unhandsomeness of Euro intellectual bored by old idea of Looks. The man’s eye turns to its corner and looks at me. The lid is still between his teeth. Those lids are quite thin. I’ve admired their walls before: slim as expensive envelopes, round-edged as ice.