Petrovich, Malkowich, and I met up as usual at „El Mariscal“ butcher’s shop at the old marketplace. We sat on the walkway and talked about football and politics while the merchants buzzed around us.

After the market was closed the entire area was torn down. Of the butcher’s shop only a platform remained where the counter once stood. Beneath the platform water flowed from a broken pipe. We met there all summer long. I think, in viewing it with some distance, we must have looked like the only survivors of a global catastrophe.

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