I sat last night at a Pizzeria Uno in one of those "nice downtown artsy shopping plazas", in which the clientele was outnumbered by the service staff. I looked in a shop full of tourist memorabilia, mostly brightly colored folk art from the southwest and Mexico; it's always chic to knock anything tourist as inauthentic, but I rather liked the sense of being in a sea of colors.
This morning, as I walked in the dawnish air, green palo verde trees, a few still finishing with the last of their yellow blooms, served as havens for choruses of singing birds. It was an Italian movie moment, walking alone, in a wispy half-light, in a desert downtown, while songbirds sang from gnarled trees.
Another day of business today, and then home again. I am eager for the weekend.
