28/01/2011 § Leave a comment

Nolty, I don’t know how you do what you do.

Sitting on the steps of Gibralter’s back patio, I was chatting with some people who work for the Argentine government– referring to themselves as workers for the State. It was interesting. Neither one of them could stop talking for a second or making jokes or laughing, which is nice because I am not good at doing these things in a foreign language. When you try to tell a joke, it becomes a daunting task of explaining a metaphor or searching for similar words or realizing that maybe I am not good at telling jokes, after all.

So, I listened. They were talking very fast and in code phrases and I was getting buzzed. They asked what I studied (“Political Science! She is like us! Amazing!”) and asked me what I was doing in the city (“She doesn’t really know! Amazing!”) and then asked me what I had in my bag (“Look! A girl with a backpack! Amazing!”). I wondered if this conversation was truly that amazing or perhaps they don’t get out very much. Or perhaps it is because ladies here don’t really use backpacks.

I took out Nolty from the bag and they thought he was beautiful.

“No, no. Handsome,” I corrected them.

So it was, Nolty sitting in my lap — lens cap off, fiddling with dials and such, pushing buttons, cranking arms — that I heard a click.



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