On Friday I took a taxi to a sushi restaurant on the highway, my friend caught up on gossip about her ex-workplace with friends, I thought my thoughts.
We went to yoga. I walked downtown and stopped to look at the aqueduct, which is illuminated at night, and the city lights spread all around, and the roofs and spaces inside walls.
A scientist with a book under his arm befriended me and we went to have tea at the typical cafe of his friend. Our table was on the pavement and beside there was a shadow puppet show accompanied by a trio of folk musicians from the mountains. A small crowd watched from the steps. We talked about poetry and personal particulars. He took two cans of wine from his shoulder bag and his friend supplied two glasses with ice.
I met the young man in a plaza, he made me a coffee at his work and finished packing up tables. We went with his friends to a bar of rock covers. His friend’s cousin told me she was 15 and had left school to work as a waitress. The moon was full and luminous in the sky above the bar. We went to another bar with an orange tree in the courtyard. He explained that the context is very important in understanding verb tenses in Spanish.
In the morning I had breakfast downtown with the scientist to celebrate Australia Day: deep fried gorditas with mushroom and nopales. We went to a museum and the train station, which is perfectly and elegantly presented for travelers, except no passenger trains ever stop there. We saw a freight train pass with two pairs of guards seated on middle and rear cars. He told me that in the town where he lives, a person on a motorcycle once pulled up beside him at the traffic lights and pointed a gun at him, and cars behind him started honking their horns.
I had sushi by the pool with my friend. We lay on deckchairs and there were tiny birds flitting in the tree. Her work colleague escorted us to a cabaret-style bar with a different rock covers band.
We had breakfast by the pool and my friend’s friend described in detail the house of his grandparents in Europe. We jogged around the lake at dusk and dark, 5 km. The light was very soft, the ducks in a revolving bunch, white dust rising with each step.
A companion at my school told me her Mexican boyfriend had been listening to the Hottest 100. My classmate and I sat on the footpath and ate our gorditas in the sun, but I didn’t feel I was shining today. I walk down the street and a line from W.H. Auden’s poem slips into my head, always just the one line, ‘For nothing now can ever come to any good’. Then there is the church, the cobblestones, a man fitting new cobblestones and painting the joins with terracotta coloured paint.