Porto
Casa Lopes, Rua Ribeira, on the Rio Douro in Porto: The bar fills up, the bar empties, like the tides. A lot of laughter, a little shouting. On the television is a memorial for people killed by a collapsing bridge. The locals fall silent.
An elderly woman is eating two eggs. An old man is eating rice and meat. A dog eats what the old man throws to it. A boy sleeps. His father is snoring.
The landlord directs. His young son fetches wine, the two daughters pour it. The landlord's wife is behind the cash register.
The dog barks, everybody laughs. Except for me.
My thoughts are with the television programme. I am a spoilt child of the television age. Sadness on the television affects me more strongly than the real atmosphere in this bar where I am. Where am I?
