Trafika Europe 11 - Swiss Delights

An Instinctive Feeling of Innocence

some turn red. Below them, the Serbian tourists gather around the mound of worthless paper. “All for nothing,” says Sweetie, disappointed. I sit quietly on the little stool by the newspaper saleswoman, and read the pages she tosses into my lap, checking what’s already been read to me. The ongoing saga of the bank robber makes me happy, maybe because I’m relieved that a story whose very beginning I was there to witness is still unfolding, so I’ll have some entertainment during my unexpected leave. But it’s not all relaxation, since I’m now busy thinking about how I can escape this dear woman I’ve so unexpectedly run into again after all these years. Sweetie, as locals called her, had been a sought-after seamstresswhoworked in a tiny, glass-enclosedplatform cabin by the fence of our family friend, Rapineau. “I’m going to Sweetie” was a way to show off back in the day, because it implied you had expensive silk stockings that you’d ruined by going about so carefree. At the kiosk café nearby, a grumpy employee empties a water bucket onto the sidewalk at ever shorter intervals. Although the suds quickly evaporate on the hot asphalt, passersby still have to jump over the remaining puddles. Bossa Nova songs blare from Sweetie’s little radio, chestnut trees rustle in the park, and it’s almost as if the pretzel vendor of my childhood could reappear at any moment, dragging his heavy bag of baked goods

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