You had looked off to the left over my head and who knows what you had seen

…You had looked off to the left over my head and who knows what you had seen.
When I met you the lanterns strung like well-plotted constellations above the roads were just that day being taken down again. They were kicked inside a wide-doored building where the paint peeled from the walls to three different colours, a palimpsest. The street narrowed where it was no longer the tourist strip and that is where I found you. I watched a small man with heavy lines in his palms scraping the hair off a dried out swine head with a small blade only meant for cutting paper. I turned and met you head on, both of us hearing the same cut-flesh noise. Feeling for my camera the man gestured to his other prize pig heads attached to the wooden pole behind you. The digital snap sounding more like an impatient pen. He returned to the shredding and looked out passed us as if we were never there, or have already gone. Perhaps we have.
Further down the street…