Her red suede sandals, fringed, like tropical moccasins. Her feet in front of mine, in a hurry – what did they remind me of? Her feet were acacias petals.
(I looked down at my feet, not as delicate, in red skater shoes. My feet were also acacia red.)
Later, dangling from a street corner tree branch, a bundle of tied-together shiny plastic and red simcard pouches. Two boys minding it.
This city is indifferent to its relentless red blooms, it sweeps fallen petals out of habit, leaving them in heaps on the curb, heaps in the broken asphalt.