The supermarket. A friendly Greek woman sells me a bright pink bucket.
The pharmacy: a porcelain Chinese pharmacist says, pointing:
“There’s a Persian shop just across the plaza”.
And on the way a friendly Aussie girl who could be something else but probably isn’t any more, from the sound of it.
Rosewater, nuts, dried fruit, Yazdi – sweet honeycakes.
Women’s voices, poetry in the air.
“It’s Farsi, our language, she laughs”
“We were talking about how hard it is to put children to sleep.”
And on the way home a church sign:
“A Jesus Metaphor: I am the bread of life.”
An Australian suburb.