An Angel at the Rue des Pittas

I asked God how on Earth do you write, or read, a speech for a child that doesn't speak yet. The answer came a lot quicker than I had imagined.

"Tell them we love José Mourinho! Can you tell them? Will you?"

Seems to me the special one has some fans upstairs.

Statue leads us to believe this has always been a welcoming street for the thirsty.

A musing on monkey attacks

There is a feeling I get sometimes when I'm with very old friends or with my closest kin in which they bring up old stories that I'd forgotten. An afternoon I spent lost in some distant island, the hiking of a small mountain through mists so thick we were virtually blind, the numerous times I've been attacked by mokeys (in pretty much every continent by now), threatened by dealers (in pretty much every continent, too) or the happy conversation we struck with the fucked up, doped-out wretched creature who was trying to rob us.

I'm not going to be coy about this, it's a good feeling. It strikes a chord in my broken harp.

It reminds me that I have forgotten more adventures than many people will get to live. I'm okay with that.

Waiting for the subway to arrive

The old american couple sat next to me, rubbing heavy, rusty knees. They had a bad case of touristic exhaustion: I could tell by the thousand yard stare with which they looked at the empty subway tracks. Somewhat unlikely, but true nonetheless, mexican music was playing on the PA.

They didn't finish each others' sentences: they took turns in saying words, so that it was virtually impossible to keep track of who was saying what.

"Porto was fascinating.
"Fascinating.
"it was an older city.
"You could feel it.
"This is more of a metropolis.
"It's all spread out.
"Less impressive.
"Sure am glad this is the end of the trip," She said. "If it wasn't!"

Then the train arrived and I couldn't really make out if he answered "I'm needing my shocks" or "need to change socks." I suppose one's just as likely as the other. I got on one carriage and they got on another.

I'm going to be very honest here: I liked the old couple and I was sorry to see them go. But that's life for you, I suppose.

photograph taken by Maria Furtado

I dreamt of a world where love had been outlawed. 

The sex was incredible.

Santa Apolonia, late at night

Please do not fead the pigeons with your empty dreams, your rage or your pity.

The pigeons hate your fucking pity.

Today's Pigeon, Immerman & Bagg