I am basking in the sunshine at Café Rico next to the gate of our apartment building. The sky is blue, the air is warm, and the sunlight pelting my skin is delicious. Still, I am oppressed by the pavement around me, which is difficult not to see in gory detail in this brilliant light. The large, bland, rectangular slabs of drab concrete with which the sidewalk is paved are covered with chewing gum, the oval patches of which glisten in the sunshine. The cracks between slabs, most of which are chipped, are crammed with cigarette butts. Here and there, a few blades of grass manage to survive the heavy pedestrian traffic. At some distance from my table there is a crude metal cover leading to a cable-television conduit. Tire marks and greasy spots complete the picture. Notting Hill. The end of the Twentieth Century.