The Green Market, Split

Most days, we would visit the Stari Pazar, the Green Market - we would scurry across the busy Zagrebacka, a fearsome greasy stretch of tarmac - a racetrack for the bravos on their waspish mopeds, the sirens in their Mercedes - you could hardly see the pedestrian crossing, so faded were the white stripes - crossing it was an act of faith - you would hear the stinging hiss of tyres - you would feel dizzy inhaling fumes from a glittering exhaust -

Once on the other side, away from the shadowy Radunica, you would enter the Market - the exciting labyrinth of stalls extended the whole length of the eastern wall of Diocletian's Palace - tall trees provided welcome shade -

There was a severe church standing within the louche world of the market - once, one evening, we saw a wedding there - the bridegroom and his friends drank whiskey and cokes whilst they waited for the bride - a bottle of Blue Label Johnnie Walker was placed upon the roof of a brutish SUV -

A young slender nun darted out from the church - we then saw the bride, with her father - she wore a figure hugging flesh coloured dress - he had a savagely cropped rug - very soon the wedding party had vanished inside the church - the Blue Label was left untouched -

There was a rough cafe just up from the vegetable stalls - thin men would drink coffee or gulp Tomislav beers - women with worn faces would smoke Ronhill Lights - 

The market was open daily, from around six in the morning - it was used by the local people for almost all their needs - 

I would watch the tourists saunter by - the Japanese girls with their clever cameras, the members of the American  choir who had sung in the Peristyle -

I would lose myself in the moment - I would place the cherry Anne had given me in my mouth - I would taste its sudden sweetness upon my tongue -