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Why is the toilet paper's placement in relation to the toilet only functional for members of Cirque du Soleil?
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Gee whiz, the shower caps are shrinking! Or maybe my hair is getting bigger.
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I wish I knew how those unmarked mixer taps in the shower worked. All I know, is that one direction is boiled chicken and the other is goosebumps. It's always too late when I work it out.
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Walking through the park back to the hotel today, everyone was lying around and kissing each other. Not the homeless people though. They weren't kissing each other.
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There's a messaging function on the television in my hotel room. I'm scared the TV will start messaging me. Hang on...it says "massaging". What...?
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I pull the curtains back and gaze through the filthy windows. I am on the sixth floor. Over the road, five storeys up, a small Asian man is tethered to an unseen point inside the building. He is wearing tennis shoes and carrying a window. He hunches forward as he passes a column which leaves him with mere inches of space on the awning. He clutches the window. It is taller and wider than he is. I wait for him to fall. He doesn't.
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At a busy intersection, my chances of hailing a cab should be good. After ten minutes I reassess. After fifteen minutes I start seeing things. I open the rear passenger door after I've seen the driver nod and the car stops. A startled Japanese woman squeals and recoils at the dangerous beast breaking into her cab. The light was red.
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An empty cab arrives. The driver is displeased. He complains. About traffic. About driving a taxi. About the weather. About me. About turning right. I insist. He complains when I pay him. Poor man. He no longer knows what is good.
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After walking through the park, I took these pictures of important Latin American men:
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| © 2015 divacultura |
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| © 2015 divacultura |
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| © 2015 divacultura |
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