Buenos Aires

Traffic always in busy Buenos Aires. At night there are trucks bringing in produce and busses taking good looking workers home. Taxi's and cars flood in for dinner and drinking (dinner starts at 9 30 and drikning at midnight). In the wee small hours there is less volume but its much more loud. One rubbish truck makes the noise of a hundred taxi´s and travels much slower. Stopping at every block to lift the sifted through rubbish and take it away. The city´s poor work hard and dirty for a fiarly poor existence. The dawn chorus is the busses rushing to the end of thier lines, preparing to move so many people so many places. The street cleaners are at work and the shop keepers join in. sweeping and hosing the greet eachother in practiced and ritualised ways. Familiarity it turns out truly breeds affection. Then they arrive, by busloads in cars on motorbikes and walking walking walking. It´s like every building is finally breathing out after holding onto fears dreams loves and lives al night. And what buildings too. So ornate. Colonial Opulence. Low and long and tall and narrow. Pillars and white marble. Carvings and small veranda´s. And newer buildings too, taller, less pretty. Some look comfortable and warm, covered in ivy on tree lined streets. The people they house are attractive and imperious. Polite, and snooty. Never have a smiled at so many and got so little back. Nor seen so many breast implants, and rarely so many naturally stunning people. I stared into warm brown eyes and felt breathless.