In a mall, pressing against those glass exteriors fronting numerous interchangeable shops; it could be an emporium dedicated to exclusive Provençal face cream- whatever, I stare inside like a piqued Martian. Part of the reason I’m outside involves exogenous factors: born into a small family flat, rented by unhappy parents, battling, blaming, adventurously polygamous, accusatory, uneducated, … Continue reading Window Shopping with l’Étranger