It's one of those days when it would be nice to just be sitting at a cafe watching people go by. Listening to the birds in the trees and watching the sparrows hop amongst the tables hunting for crumbs. The sounds of voices, conversations, noises from the kitchen behind me. No place to be and no hurry to get there.
On the back of this vernacular photograph it says:
Olvera Street
At a cafe—
Jan 3, 1937
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