Petanque

in Bryant Park. It’s like the United Nations of obscure ball games. The dreadlocked West Indian guy, the African guy (“Hey, Africa!” the West Indian guy calls), the two middle-aged white guys and the younger, paunchy white guy with a really strange way of hurling the ball and holding his cig with the other hand, the South Asian-looking guy. No females, though. And I don’t understand it at all. The tiny red ball, the clanking metal balls (how do they remember which was whose?), one guy gets four throws and the next just one. Clank! A high shot and the balls go jumping. They all laugh.

The smell of boxwood; vacation in town.

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