"I don't understand this country."

This is not a new thing for Alida to say to Marc. It is, possibly, a new thing for her to say in English, in public, at a small restaurant not far from the arts district. It is definitely new for her to have a list. Written, in French, on the table as she picks at her fruit.

"When closed at night, the fear is that this would shut off rather than open up part of the city centre," she quoted, frowning. "It was in the newspaper and I cannot understand what they are afraid OF or what is closing or why anyone cares. Why is most of their money done in increments of fives but the taxes aren't? Why do the dollar and half-dollar coins look so much like the quarters of a dollar? How do you get anything done here? No one says please, or thank you, or good evening. They say Hi. Hi doesn't mean anything! Television commercials scream at consumers and are louder than the programs."

It might be a mixed blessing that she's decided to start paying attention to the world around her.