THE MAGICIAN OF ANTIBES

There was a storm brewing over the Mediterranean as I settled to lunch on a rock wall by the stony beach. Summer market-bought tomatoes and goat cheese on crackers had become my staple midday snack since arriving in the south, something about the heat, the light, the air, demanded fresh and simple foods. I opened my journal, slipped the shoes off my baking feet, and started slicing a tomato.
He appeared in the corner of my eye then, cautious. An older man, a little frayed around the edges and with an air of false bravado hiding a shy curiosity.

I gave him a quick smile and carried on slicing.