pompeya mía

A quiet Sunday morning, cups of tea and yogurt. A phone call, a helping hand needed, a welcome distraction. A taxi to a new corner of town, a bird market, a man with papered fingers handling pigeons, tropical fish, a sad, poor neighborhood and people. A garbage heap, the stench of the Riachuelo, villa as far as the eye can see. A few photos mark the last corners of town left to map before the expedition moves forward.