It would be fun to dress up nice, have a martini-drenched meal, and then hit an avant garde jazz show. It would be at least as much fun to pile onto a dubious looking vehicle and head down a dusty developing-country road, in search of the lion, the leatherback turtle, the last genuine spice market in Fes.
But it would be more than fun to be ordinary. We cook and eat a slow dinner, then wander through the quiet neighborhood on a spring evening. The bracing air flows through us like water. The sun descends; the familiar trees and buildings are transfigured. Later, sitting up with the lights out, we lead each other in whispers to private territories.