Non-sequiturs.

On the metro in the morning, when not trying to give me handjobs, the Chilean businessmen look like a Spanish Armada, their shirtsails billowing in the canned wind of the underground.

I ate a sandwich today with beef that had that pidgeon-neck iridescence, and I´m nervous. Anticipating a rumble in the bronx.

The Lucybell concert was amazing. Saiko blew me away. With each successive song, she removed another layer. Everything is sexier in South America.

The police officer frisking everyone at the entrance got overly frisky with me, told me to take off my hat, then take off my head, and took my lighter. There was this ominous prison bus/tank in the parking lot foreshadowing any bad behavior.

Looking out my window into the plaza this morning, I saw the most elegantly dressed mime, a mounted police officer challenging a stray dog, and an old couple getting caught in the crossfire of some sudden sprinklers.

The guy who owns the empanada place in my building calls me Casper now.

I seem unable to write anything with any substance on this blog.