G.E. Forth

I often see an old African man lugging his wares endlessly from restaurant to bistro: leather belts, knock-off purses, bracelets of all kinds, and always the toys with the pulsing neon lights and repetitive sound effects.  He is fond of banging a little drum-like noise maker and repeating the same tired phrase, “African telephone,” as he searches for any eyes …

At 10 a.m. this morning, bells all over France rang to celebrate the end of WW2 seventy years ago.  When I heard them, I closed my eyes and tried to imagine the tears flowing down the cheeks of men and women on that day as many said a private ‘thank you’ for the return of normalcy, whatever that would look …