We’re at Libert. Camille has bought three cheeses and set them up on a counter in the middle of the busy little shop. She says it’s very kind of them, letting us do this. She has a knife. And she cuts four pieces of each. The raw milk cheese is oozy, gooey, deliciously stinky. We’re quiet, licking our fingers. Felicia and Chuck are from Napa Valley. Outside it’s cold and the Marche Aligre is ramping up, you’re jostled if you stand still.
We have to leave in a moment. Camille offers us hand sanitizer. There are no napkins. We shake our heads ‘no thanks’ still licking our pungent fingers. Camille rubs her hands together and agrees ‘it’s the smell of Life, yes?’
Paté and Heartbreak 