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The clouds move by off the coast.
The sounds of plastic bags and seagulls.
Discussions in French on the dollar.
"What! She's wearing all my clothes?!"
Rising, the women retie their tops.
The container ship lists to port.
The ventilator for the food cart kicks in.
It is nearly the sterile hour of four.
Printed silks and cottons move in the breeze.
I am wholly engrossed in this flickering scene.