santo antónio
Last night was Santo António. The whole of Alfama smelled of sardines and smoke, the streets full of paper garlands and plastic chairs and music from every window. Little pots of manjerico with paper poems stuck in them.
I bought a manjerico for you. It's on the windowsill next to the carnation, which is dead, I'm sorry.
I danced with Ana, badly. Nuno filmed it. I'll keep that film forever and never show anyone.