Chapter 8-- 'Flagg'

the view from the exact center line of the Avenue...

parked on the right the oversized and outdated police van, its dark paint (yes, in need of a retouch)
apt in this instance, for the vehicle, usually used for hauling off drunken squabblers or for minor police raids, was once again serving extra duty as a body wagon.
empty and waiting on the two men who drove it here. heat from its engine still noticeable.

up the block, in front of the dressmaker's shop, a black dog almost as round as a small iron stove
sits on its haunches on the smoothe, flat sidewalk.
something dark in his mouth.

remarkably enough, the dress shop, apparently out-of-business for some time and even with its
off-hinge door, has been left with all its goods intact save for the few bits of barely observed
detritus blown in from the street.
the familiar bolt of red satin(?) each day still askew across the door gap inside.
unrolled sheaves of yellow something strewn and rumpled on the floor underneath.

outside the black dog, some sort of mongrel mix with a head almost like a larger retriever's,
sits undisturbed, a black cigar, a good four inches long, held in the left side of its jaws...
perhaps, found in the gutter.


the van is cooler now the popping of its frame ceased. too much time has passed for
any slim chance of life upstairs.
if they don't hurry off they'll likely be blocking the street from its usual traffic.

an odor, previously associated with the drivers, (neither of whom were smoking on arrival),
the then unabated heat of their van, or the fickle pollution can plainly be recognized as tobacco.
it is a pure, clean-aired day out...and, indeed, it is the drift from the dog's lit(!) cigar that fills
any nostrils in the near vicinity.

a recollection of a fragment in the cheap tour guide--this must be one of the island's more
famous, (of course, these things are always relative), living 'landmarks', a literally moving one
apparently, as the guide indicated owned by no one and quite free to wander and roam to
its heart's desire...

its toothy mouth seemed to grin around the red-tipped cigar, in evident enjoyment and an
almost surreptitious, telepathic amusement at its recognition.


the slowness of the van attendants really was becoming a disturbing thing. surely some vehicle
or other, frequenting this area, would likely return at any moment and be unable to proceed.
but, in fact, it was none of one's business.

inside the dress shop, beyond the customary 'bald' milliner's head with its tacky blue
and yellow dotted bow tie, a full sized woman's manikin half naked, (if nudity it could be called),
stood twisted, almost as if at her own discretion, partly away from the window.
her face expressing an indecipherable surprise, an arm raised in what could stand as greeting, but for its elbow, (the right), being stuck full in the air at an eighty-five degree angle.

perhaps, she was hailing someone. not the dog, (I forget its name from the tour guide, since
lost), who is oblivious to 'her', awash, that is afire, in his smoker's fix.

the odor of its smoke trail, even from the middle of the street, is pleasant.

the only question is, 'who lights it for him every day??'