Lavender incense drifts down, now fried chicken, now the sound of a window air conditioner gurgles above my head. St. Jerome’s looms. I pass an open side-door and consider slipping in to shake down Jerome for some of that wine spo-dee-o-dee. I restrain myself and continue.
The clock on New Field Elementary at the end of Paulina says twelve-thirty. Walking east I turn to see Clark to the west, then at Morse and Ashland the jugo and fruta carts are set up outside Mision Cristiana Elim. Always you exit through the gift shop, whether it’s Jesus or Old God Disney, the church or religion, democracy or capital.