Basse Ville

I regain a holiday feeling by sitting in an old town square, eating pizza, whilst locals perch on a wall, smoking cigarettes before a little bus arrives and rattles them away. Swifts and martins race through the narrow lanes, far above us, to catch their own dinner. The sun slowly retreats up the old stone buildings surrounding us, and fades abruptly from the topmost branches of the old tree in the centre of the scene. On the table next to us, a young group of friends drink local beer and a child among them scribbles on his piece of paper.