on that guy on the black tshirt
he started walking ‘round san carlos
didn’t have no change to give up to the one lending their hand asking
he walked past and smiled softly in a gentle dismissal
sang songs for himself and walked down past
past the san cristobal stop where he noticed how only in that route the men insist on wearing formal clothing even in the crushing heat
it having to do something with the history of san cristobal past
chinatown down past la sirena and down the street
as he noticed music blasted out of many places, their own universe
turned right and kept on noticing the streets under construction and walked past
took a picture of a sticker on an electric station
it was by the graffiti artist “tiger”
it’s a research thing, he’d say
walking past the hotels and the streets that can smell like some other country
past the bars and past the meetings and the places he’d see their touristic appeal yet
noticed how the locals too made use of them
past the park and past the pictures, past the couple walking down the sun filtered through the streets looking like a movie scene
past the fresh haircut, past the dog often tied waiting on the cigar shop
past the gothic music that played not long after he thought of that tropical goth trend he’d seen few months ago
it was camilo playing, it made sense
past the tourists, past that one gaze he’d notice even through the reflection on a pair of glasses
it lingered
as he thought of some earlier shame he’d thought of walking the city about
as he thought of a held door and a thank you and an “always” as a reply
some gentle acknowledgement
past the strawberry thing packages on the floor
past the restaurant with some sort of announcement apologizing for the space reduced
past the building whose falling letters on the sign keep on changing its name as time passes
past the shoe store he looked into and some other gaze followed, he did notice
past and past and then turned right
right up street past the laundromat with a framed picture of a man that looked like an ex just
for a moment
past the braids and past the rastas
past graffiti and past shaking the head declining on the cars being filled for the metro
past the little businesses in the alley wondering about where would the point be, illicit
perhaps behind that one kiosk where they’d place that rack of clothes all day
past and past till
he gets somewhere
