Sunday morning

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Todat is a beautiful deserted morning. The air bites my cheeks as if they were apples. If we had to choose a color for today it would be yellow. The yellow top of a taxi, yellow bananas hanging on the wall, peek-a-boo of a yellow teeshirt as someone crosses the street. Yellow shopping bags, a yellow Golden Retreiver, yellow buildings poking up stubbornly like your hair in the morning.

I´m not sure where I am. Across from Mercado de Las Pulgas in an amazing cafe. It is small and the tv, peoples voices, and the music (I think Armenian) are competing for my devotion. The waiter is a short man with a pot belly and a mustache that hangs, heavy like a ripe pear or maybe a velvet stage curtain, off his upper lip.

On todays journey, I try and go to a new area of the city every week, I decided to not bring my journal. Now I am cursing myself because I have found the inspiration to write....and so, the inside of my Guia T (the guide with all the cities maps and bus routes) is receiving my words. The past 6 months have given life to my words and I suddenly feel the need to write them down with an urgency I thought I had lost forever. Not since highschool have I felt such hunger to write. Like an old friend who has been gone for years I am happy to have my voice back.

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Photos

on a walk
palermo viejo

quilmes
outside of a cafe

garlic
inside a cafe

on a walk
palermo viejo

on a walk
palermo viejo

blue
recoleta cemetary

home
on the bus

Comments

[Mama]

: )
It's good to see you back! Friends have been asking when to expect another entry.