Buenos Aires is in its steady dip into fall. leaves on the ground, the homeless who sleep within the ruts of closed store-fronts now sleep with blankets,
people in the street are short-nerved, in more of a hurry, more on the subways where each morning we pack on into eachothers´armpits, pressed into the intimate limits of physical confinement.
river of footsteps at floodstage off the subway throgh the clicking gates up the stairs and in an instant to the roar of city
small sidewalk overworked bus squeel car horn
warm exhaust, intersections filled at stalemant
lack of patience. people who walk and weave within their own agendas, broken sidewalk, rubble, magazine stand with porno all over the place
cafe cups to-go on trays as waiters run them through a block or accross the street.
Forida ave. pedestrian mall shopping center that stretches the length of downtown. wide enough for lanes of cars but full with the motion of footwork. is a non-stop line of quilts spread where people sell maté goards, purses, plastic bracelets, small figurines ect.... stuff mass produced.
on either side stretch trendy storfronts: mcdonalds, cd stores, clothing, jelrwy, frappachino, banks ect..
begging mother with infant child in her arms: sprawled out, bloated, limp.
another child alone leaning against a magazine stand with bright white speckles over his skin,
A couple who has crashed dozens of wine bottles into a pile of sharp-glass scraps. The have turned their storage trunk sideways as an elevator for her to stand on 3 feet above the ground. .
The boyfriend takes off his hat and turns it upside down, explains to the crowd that he and her are poor and they rely on performace in order to get by, that they live in a hotel and without the money night by night, they would be sleeping on the street.
The girl jumps. she lands in the middle of the pile of glass, specks fly outwards into the street and at our feet. she cringes, looks like the is going to scream. people throw money, others are not interested and continue on their way.
The couple continues to do tricks like this into the glass, things progressivly painfull.
a police officer in a bright orange vest leaning against a wall
A trained eye, appearance of order when all that it is is a refined kind of pattern recognition, choosing from the multitudes.