Waiting for Fernanda, Early March

20 Mar

From my book of sketches

Rio, waiting for fernanda in the fanciest of hotels, at least in my motelian mind.  It’s my second month in Rio, sometime in early march.  A waiter, a boy, no older than I spots me.  He waits on me, brings me coffee.  Two cookies, not one.  The hotel has an in-house museum of precious stones.  The waiter almost bows down to me everytime he approaches and evertime he leaves.  I try to play it cool, let him know that he doesn’t have to hassle over me but he doesn’t know who I am.

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