Fiorella

My lower lip hurts.
PAIN.

Tonight: Theater. A play in a basement, to which I have no idea how to get there.
Tomorrow: Class, all day. Afterwards, To the Rio with Anita to enjoy the sunset.
Thursday: Passport Finally done?
Friday: Sailing
Weekend: study for finals
Monday: Estancia in the countryside with horses and gauchos.

Its so calm and quiet.

I love it.

 There is a blind man on the train.
He is always on there when I take it, and he plays the guitar.

He makes me sad. 
When he sings, you can hear the sadness coming out. His flamenco voice is so beautiful.

He walks the cabins, tells his story, sings, and waits.
He stands there with his cup.
He waits.

God bless you, he whispers, as a man gives him 10 cents.

The irony, as he waits, no one ever looks him in the face.

I get up. Drink coffee.

get ready.

I get on the 150 to Retiro.
   Early.    Great.    I wait.
Train arrives, I get in line. I feel uneasy.
    Is this the right train?

Hey old man next to me, is this the train to La Lucila?
    You seem like the type that never takes the train, the old man responds.
       How is that?
    You didn't really get in line, you stood off to the side. It gave you away.

       Fuck.
I really tried you know, to fit in.

Oh well,
          maybe next time.

All systems go.