Not Made of Sugar



Just me, myself and I

The summer is almost over but the hot, hot heat lingers on. There’s a blue haze in the sky and the ocean does not move. Floppy & Shatzy have not come out of their house all morning, like I, they know it’s much to hot to venture outdoors. It’s been over four months since my plane left me here and my patience is slowly coming along. I study the language as much as I can. I really have no choice, the only person in this town that speaks English is M. and his English is not the best at times. I have met a few of the regulars from town and we speak over morning espresso and cigarettes.
His name is Dominico and he’s sixty-five plus years. He speaks no English and offers me espresso and companionship daily. He’s a nice old man with blue eyes, one of the few blue-eyed people I have come across on this brown-eyed island. He has asked me to collect him stamps from Canada, and I have. We sit in the middle of town at our local TanTan,  and laugh and giggle at the passing people and horny little dogs that run wild throughout our town.
But how quickly the sky changes, the humidity has turned into pouring rain. Large black and grey clouds cover the sky and gust past the bay windows. There was a slight break in the sky this afternoon, and I ventured out to fetch mountain water at the fountain and have a secret cigarette. The break didn’t last long as on my way back a slight drizzle took over the town. I’m not made of sugar like my mother once told me, so I had no fear of melting.