Feb 26th "Dimanche Gras" This is Dimanche Gras. Not Mardi Gras. As if Fat Tuesday wasn’t enough, a Fat Sunday is called for. We’re all in line, each one of us in our positions. We begin by facing one way down the road towards the boulevard headed towards “centre ville.” Then he decides to turn around the other way. Only, after repositioning ourselves, I hear the distant tattoo of another approaching group. They appear at the end of the street, their sound now emitting directly from the blood red capes they are wearing. They slowly approach us and stop right before us, facing us like a tribe about to partake in combat. We remain facing them. They continue playing. It seems like a Guadeloupian West Side Story, but I haven’t found the love affair involved. They
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