The croissant comes with a glaze of marmalade. Everything sticks to it, the napkin, fingers, a fat fly. I dip the tip of a finger into my macchiato and lick it clean. Looking out into the parking lot, I spot my car right where I left it in a parade going nowhere, jacaranda blossoms fluttering down like confetti.

eating with my hands
shoulder bumping hello
learning the culture—
at the thieves market
I buy back my stolen mirror