Proceedings
Chris Bronsk I don’t haggle, she told me early on. But a taxi ride to the oasis cost the driver his newspaper. For a first-class ticket to Tangier, the conductor lost his grin in a photograph. It was mint tea in the glaring outskirts of Ouarzazate for a bag of blanched almonds. And in Marrakech, un petit cadeau of sticky dates for paying full price for a kilo of figs. What should I have asked for, then, at the port in Algeciras, where that black dog chased acacia seeds in a breezeway? Its master had just returned with salted cod and a block of hash to share with his friends. The placards from last season’s corridas sagged blanched from the walls in the morning chill. The coronas of parked cars had not yet risen into gleam. The muezzin was a ferry horn, and the dog was raking dust from a scirocco on the tiles in a cool unbidden prance. |
|

About the Author: Chris Bronsk writes and takes pictures. His work has appeared in Mojave River Review, Creative Thresholds, and elsewhere. He lives in Boston with his wife and son.
.
.