Altercados domésticos

Rain in Buenos Aires is never a simple conversation between the sky and the ground. Instead, like a marital dispute gone wrong the sky unleashes every bit of frustration on the city, throwing down chips of hail, sheets of slanted rain in torrential bursts, bellowing thunder, snaps of lightning, and winds that whip around the buildings to accost unaware pedestrians. The fallout is enormous and the streets are empty of dogs, trash, pidgons, and street vendors selling bead necklaces and other handicrafts off of blankets. As if by magic other street vendors sprout like mushrooms to take their place, hawking paraguas for ten pesos.

The porteño has learned, like children do, that it is better to hide in your room while the two parents settle their differences rather than try to walk through the kitchen where they are arguing. Days like today are best left to long naps, retreats to a coffeehouse with a good book and some café con leche, or movies of dubious legality rented from the movie store one block down.

Unfortunately, I have a parcial this morning.