Suddenly and Effortlessly Festive Beirut

All of a sudden, and without prior notice, all stop signs are red, all tail lights are red, all traffic lights are red, green, and yellow, there's red all over my Croton, under the leaves of my African violets, on the telephone directory, on the Murano glass clock, on the signs of gas stations, on the fingernails of dainty girls, on the license plates of taxi cabs, on the squiggly lines under misspelled words, and somewhere on the clothes of every other person walking the streets of Beirut.

As for me, the wine on my lips is red, my cheeks are red, my eyes are red too, not from the wine, from walking around Hamra street on Christmas trying not to think of you.