The Interloper

The more I travel the more sameness I notice. The hood is the hood is the hood. Whether it's row homes or housing blocks, the look, the feel... the smell, and the characters are the same. Pick a dozen personalities; the fallen woman, the hustler, dreamer, glamour girl, revolutionary, entrepreneur, and so on. They're all here, along with the working family trying to make it out... those who have sacrificed so their kids could make it out.

That's where I'm at. It's a mixture of melancholy and hope. The stories of old men told over beers and a little girl pretending to be a waitress and wiping down tables.

Whether it's Porto, Portugal or Little India in Singapore, the vibe is the same. 8 stories or 8 billion... this is where they start.

I'm not a visitor or a tourist. I'm an interloper. Graciously welcomed, but an interloper nonetheless.

Yet I can't help but wonder, are rounds of beers and cigarettes at sundown the best life has to offer?

Another late night... and a late night workout and salad....and finally got that rally in solitaire.

Bem Noite