I sit on the little restaurant’s balcony. I am one story above the street. The breeze swirls the warm evening air, wrapping me in a damp warmth. Kevin will arrive in two more days, but for now I am at a little bistro table set for one. I drink my glass of Chardonnay and eat a piece of perfectly-baked fish accompanied by chunks of baked squash, okra, carrots and onions. The restaurant’s violinist plays Yesterday. I look across the street at the eye-level apartments with balconies too broken to use. To the right, some laundry slumps and releases in the wind; faded towels with unravelling edges. Below, a man pushes a cart piled with dirt and chunks of brick. A crippled man on crutches drags his twisted legs behind him. A bicycle taxi clatters over the rough cobbles.  Two teen girls support each other as they balance on their high heels, strutting and as clumsy as fillies.

  When I look across at the apartment again, I see a young girl sitting behind the window. She is maybe 15-years old, her hair a rapturous kinky halo through the glare of the glass. She’s wearing a bright yellow top that makes her appear darker and even more beautiful. We look at each other. Her smile spreads across her face. She points to me, and then touches her heart. I give her a questioning look. She repeats the gestures as she mouths the English words again, “I like you.” I mime the words back to her and then, not sure what else to do, I raise my glass in a toast and give her another smile…but there is a gulf between us, distance that is so much greater than the width of the street.