Things Are What You Make of Them

Santiago is car alarms, stray dogs, skinny cats, sweaty strangers standing next to each other, on each other, hanging on to my pride when the metro jerks to a halt, and I am falling on men in business suits and women's vulnerable toes. Disculpa. Santiago is school girls clamoring, desperate to vogue-ify their school uniforms, mothers infantilizing their adult children, men gawking. Santiago is staring down the tops of buildings, because something just beyond you is very intriguing, and I don't see you talking to me. Santiago is looking forward to class on Friday, looking forward to horse back riding into Argentina, looking forward to a second go at winter, looking forward to my next entertaining faux pas, looking forward, intently, contentedly, outwardly.