Tuesday, May 21, 2013


The Zumba class across the street is ending with an exalted power anthem that gets me out of bed in time to enjoy lots of bandwidth--our internet access shared with several teenagers in this slightly sprawling household/warren of apartments. Dominican ladies who have risen early and donned their lycra shorts are filtering down the street now with bottles of water and a sense of having done the right thing. Out and about yesterday, we encountered a man selling bushels of a fruit that was new to us--I've seen them growing high on the trees, and tumbled to the sidewalk, or tossed, mostly eaten. They taste like cinnamon, sweet and sour cinnamon apples that crunch, leaving little fibrous hollows.