And there we were, the three of us just after the sun had set and as that first, early darkness was dropping, with the infant in his trolley, the winds of Araby blowing like a lover's whisper in our ears, hot and husky and stealing away our breath and drying our throats, as all the cars in the country raced paste the Gulf Road, drinking contraband Cape champagne.

"Sparkling -."

Shush you. I won't ruin a perfectly good alliteration over some technicality. It occurred to me that it couldn't get much better than that. So I took an imaginary Polaroid picture and after they had all gone I stayed behind just a minute longer to see how it had turned out. Turns out it turned out alright. It really did.

Contraband Champagne,
written 50 weeks ago