The light in the city at sundown is like a golden paper curtain coming down, falling upon the streets.
There have been two Paul's in my life today.
Paul 1 was as tall as a mountain, a smooth-skinned creature with very few blemishes or pockmarks considering his respectable old age. He was surrounded by overgrown powdery roses, a tailless squirrel and a few awestruck tourists.
The other Paul I came across, or rather didn't, was as cold at heart as the surface of the stone that Paul 1 was constructed from. Paul 2 had left behind discarded lovers on the sides of streets, in cramped alcoves carved into ancient rock. He'd branded their white skin with the letters of his name in black marker, pressed his lips against them only to depart a few minutes later. But there they would stand, upright and still bearing his name, waiting.
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