The sun sets. Indigo, and strings of lights cast the faces in shadow. My foot sticks to the concrete. It's time to move on. Back into the grid of blocks.
Tables fill the streets, and all the cafes have spun their TVs around to face without.
The cafes are empty but the tables outdoors are full, the little kids sit on their haunches, scrunched up beneath the screens. Block after block, people are sitting around, having a drink, maybe talking with friends, maybe watching the free, if ear-splitting, entertainment. I'm in the mood for a conversation that involves more than ten words. There's gotta be a pub with some foreigners around here somewhere. I haven't seen any foreigners today.