Even at a time like this, the street is filled with people.

You know what I think, she says, the people’s memories might be the fuel they burn to stay alive.

That often slipped into the surreal.

Do you speak English. Where are you staying? Follow me, and I am going to take you somewhere where you can get a cab.

Sometimes it comes, and sometimes it stops coming. You need every help you can get. In dark places there are small things waiting to help you.


It makes you feel differently. Tall and tan and young and lovely, the girl from Ipanema comes walking. But each day as she walks to the sea she looks straight ahead, not at me. The tune always brings back memories of the corridor of my high school. The damp concrete floor of my hight school.

It was almost always silent. The girl from Ipanema reminds me of my high school floor.

The real world.

There was a pianist. A pianist who was so good, that kings came to his concerts. No one knew him.

Life is what you make it. There is nothing exterior. It is all inside.