Sunday

I do not usually like sundays. They have that taste of boredom, a sense of not doing anything worth doing.

Today I was coming home in the bus, and an old men sat by my side. The buses here only have the old and the poor, the people who can not afford having a car. The man sat and chatted for a while with a big and fat policeman, them the policemen left, and my neighbour asked me: "are you having a good day so far?" "Yes," I said. And I though about breakfast in Venice, going to hollywood to test drive a horrible car, taking an hour in the bus from Venice to Downtown, waiting another hour, and finally taking a second bus that would take one and a half hour to get me home, and being sitting there talking with an old man. Is not the ideal of a good day so far, but who cares, is Sunday, and I love L.A. "Do you know what a wale is?" and then he talked a bit about portugueses and the wales, save the wales. "Oh, and the graveyard in Glendale?""What?" "Oh yes, see, there is the graveyard on the right. They call it memorial". And there it was, a huge cemitery called Memorial Park. He kept going: "here we have hungry people, and fat people." Oh yes. The men chatted and chatted, and finally left in Glendayle, he was going to see the convertible car show. "do you know what a convertible is? It can be open or closed. That's why they call it convertible." Oh yes, i am becoming a car expert. Actually, after today taking 3 hours to cross the town back home, I am more desperate than ever to buy a car. And then he left, all the same way as he had arrived. Just like this.