Hordes of people surrounded the Sao Paulo bar serving the king amongst hot
sandwiches. Layers of mortadella folded in and over itself like carelessly
stuffed laundry, covered in molten luminous processed cheese oozing out of
the sides of a soft, crisp, freshly baked roll. All to be swilled down with
a dry, chilled beer.
When our ticket number came up, Beatriz grappled through the scrum, got our
order and, championing a tray aloft, seemed to crowdsurf back towards me
until I could grab the teetering beers. Our arms, hands and fingers reached
out like lovers separated by a leaving train.
Posted by jc1000000