Shiver

Last night the earth shivered.
Only slightly. Only so my eyes shot open, searching the mint green cement.

The whole episode lasted less than a second. Just long enough for me to wonder whether I made it all up.

It's colder here than I thought it would be. I double up everything, sweats beneath jeans, leg warmers on my arms. I did just come from the Gulf. The shore is daunting and beautiful. The waves roll in, smashing against the thick grey barricade. The salt water eats it slowly, exposing pebbles and tar. At least I can walk here without feeling like I'm doing something wrong. Here it's not all my fault.

There is bread everywhere. I eat it with the avocadoes I buy from deep inside the vegetable souk. I want to taste the carrots and potatoes, drip pear juice down my forearms, bite into a huge tomato or apple and slice fresh onion onto something. But I avoid skinless produce... I follow the rules, using bottled water when I brush my teeth, sandals in the shower.

The mint tea for breakfast is wonderful. I ask the man with the incomplete hand if I can have two teas instead of juice. He tells me I have to wait. Other people might want tea.

The footwear is the most complicated. I have the socks that are only allowed inside the "clean" sheets. These can be worn with shoes but only beneath other socks (these "other socks" are not allowed in bed). The slippers are for inside the hostel. But not the bathroom. The slip-ons are for nice days. The tennis shoes are for rainy. Whatever you do, don't touch the beds beneath the sheets. Or the blankets on top of the sheets. I'm only trying to do you a favor. It isn't hell but it's not The Hilton either. You get what you pay for.

I just wish I wasn't always so cold.