I have a basket of berets that I do not wear

There is a woman in a black beret... She sits, writing with a fountain pen in a dark corner of a dark cafe, on the first day of spring. She wears black eyeliner. She drinks coffee in silence and peers out into the world, blinded by the light. I love her. It takes courage to wear black, much less a black beret, and pour out your thoughts on a sunny day in Vancouver. It is a sign of an inner life. I walk by in my new designer gym outfit. I want to mouth "I am so sorry" because I have a basket full of berets that I do not wear... I want her to know that we are kindred spirits.

There is a woman in a straw hat, waiting for the bus. She sits, smoothing her skirt. She is wearing white gloves and holding a hymn book. She is also blinded by the light, or so she thinks. I walk by with my latte, wearing shorts.. She purses her lips in disapproval. I want to say to her "I'm sorry". I like hymns too... I wear white gloves sometimes too. I have a whole basket of gloves I do not wear.. I want her to know that I am a nice person.

There is a man in a doorway in Paris. He is smoking a cigarette and looking at me with a frown. I smile and he closes the door. I am holding the Jewish newspaper. I bought it in a silent shop full of silent people in an old street. I read on the first page that a man was kidnapped and beaten to death. I am afraid. I hide the newspaper in my bag. I start to mouth the words "I'm sorry" but the words catch in my throat.

I have a basket of berets that I do not wear.