from MONDAY diary (2)

SILK HEADSCARVES, A FISH, COLD DUSK, STREET MERCHANTS

both ladies wore silk headscarves that showed not a single lock of hair -- interpreted as more devout than those who wear the scarf but still show some hair. the old aunt was extremely kind and at one point, even invited me to visit her home in Istanbul. the uncle was a math teacher in a public school. our conversations over our bulbs of tea ranged from jobs, to the sister, to how I know Mohammad to the girl attempting to explain her job by saying, "I'm a fish." the uncle said I was handsome, so i grabbed the shoulders of Mohammad and his friend, saying no, these guys were the handsome ones.

Mohammad said I was much thinner than before. I believe him, I don't eat enough probably, always the case when i'm abroad. before i left, Mohammad and I planned to meet tomorrow morning and wander around the city. he's a good guy and i hope he doesn't try to convert me. that always spoils a good friendship.

when time became long enough I left and walked the brisk walk, clutching my coat around my neck, back to the train. i walked through a bonafide maze of a bazaar, taking side streets zig-zagging through the old houses, apartments, spinning meat, like people from everywhere came to set up shop in any square foot of street space they could find. i began to notice the various classes of the sellers. the difference between those who had shops and those who had tables and how people work with what they have, poor, poorer, selling and beckoning, but not begging.