*Louise**
***
We pass every Wednesday on the Rue Sainte-Barbe. There’s a market every Wednesday; also every Tuesday, Thursday, Friday and every Saturday. Perhaps she walks to market on all those other days; but I am just a Wednesday man. I buy sausage, sometimes smoked meats.
I saw her first in summertime. I was late, and taking the corner fast, we almost collided. She is tiny, like a forget-me-not. Most times I see her from a distance and we tread closer like the cool duelling gunslingers in a spaghetti western. I peruse the ground until I hear her footfall, only then I glance up, and should she be watching me, I nod to her. She sometimes smiles.
Today we passed exactly where the slit of sunlight slices across the road. Simultaneously we stepped out of cold shadows. At our closest we were only inches apart.
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