My instinct is toward empathy, but I must admit it’s harder to have empathy for someone who’s a twit. And though lack of hospitality is something of a sin, some guests are more welcome going out than coming in!!!
Click on first photo to see slide series and read captions.
When I got to Isidro’s art show, on time, they were still setting up the show and getting the band set up. I should know by now that in Mexico, when they say six o’clock, that the affair is more likely to start by eight.
So I took a stroll into the town plaza instead.
Watched by the usual mannequins.
The church loomed overhead across the plaza from the Casa Cultural where the art show was being set up.
Huge rocking horses in the square were rarely riderless.
There were the obligatory pigeons
with their obligatory feeders.
And the usual guy busy staring at the world in his own palm.
This little girl was playing a game of hide and seek with her friend.
This meteorite found in the mountains above town now resides in the town plaza.
Vital statistics for the meteorite.
Finally, I walked back across the square to the side entrance of the Casa Cultural.
Loved this large impromptu portrait shed on the floor in the center of the gallery.
Your disingenuous comments come off as less than real. In fact, I can’t help thinking you display more than you feel. You feign blustery emotions. You fuss and you emote, and yet your words seem bigger than the feelings they denote. Your dialogue is fervent. You shout and plead and bleat, but I’m afraid your fiery comments seem to lack real heat. Before further encounters and angst-filled future sessions, may I make a suggestion? I’d suggest acting lessons.
We wander narrow alleyways in countries that are foreign— negotiate their tunnels, like rabbits in a warren. We do not pay attention as we ogle and we gawk who may follow closely—who may observe and stalk. We are naive travelers. We’re innocents abroad. One listens to our narratives, then signals with a nod just as we are reaching to try to reimburse, for another watcher to swoop down on our purse. Then they’re off down alleyways where we are loath to go where they’ll have their own adventures—financed by our dough.