We were sitting over a beer, cooling down after a hot day, fighting with mosquitos and sharing stories who was robbed when and where. There was only one rule – it had to take a place in South America. Guys had quite few stories – australian was robbed twice on the same street (one of main streets in Buenos), one time they tightened a rope around his neck, second time he got threatened by a finger that was supposed to be a gun so eventually he refused to give his cash away, other guy got his eyes sprayed with pepper gas.
That was the evening, and during the sun hours I was walking around the city with everything I own on my back. To be a better target, I was walking with a cup from Starbucks, I drank mate with homeless in park, I was answering every provocation and approaching anyone who called me. It’s probably just the longing for T. My misery had to be visible, because no one wanted my money and everyone was willing to listen about T.
I went for a steak to a strange pub. Waiters, in their 60’s, in white shirts, moving their hips when some music with a rhythm was coming from the radio. In front of me there was an older Argentinean sitting, we were smiling to each others while chewing meat.
I talked with a boy living on the street — he’s sleeping there on his couch — he said that I could also sleep there, but I went back to the hostel.
