Inside the museum we looked at the purple women. I pointed out the women waddling around in green skirts and swollen ankles. You were staring at  the bones. The same bones, I would tell you later at the bars, of the girls in your photographs.

Today we made tomato soup. You woke me when the sky was still grey and we took the train to the garden and I put the red fruits in my pocket, still warm from the soil. We didn’t say anything to each other.