a trip

There's a kind of squeeky cleanness, and a stiff unhappy look to the people; the painful look of money. Hiding out in a Moroccan cafe after the conference, drinking mint tea, I find myself next to the bravado of x-pat British lads, telling stories of their triumphs. I blank it out; indulge in my programming and tea. Waiting to compile, the evening arrives, clear blue, pleasant temperatures.