The Fountain of Wine.

...oh, woooh, wo-oh, here comes......

I’ve forgotten that people live in the city; forgotten that they raise their kids there, become grandparents and pick their grandchildren up after school.

I’ve forgotten that they shop in the same shops every week and that the shopkeepers know them and ask about their kids.

And their grandparents.

And that the shopkeepers know when one of the grandparents has died and will ask when the funeral is.

And be there when it’s time.

I have forgotten all of this; the city seems such a strange place to me today. It’s somewhere I visit on the way to someplace else and I rarely come back on the way home.

I know no-one.

And no-one recognises me.

Except the man who sells wine on the corner of Rue de la Fontaine.

He asks me about my kids.

And wishes us a happy New Year.

They buy their wine from him too.

 formerly published in The Archives.