On winter nights, the sodium street lamps cast gashing shadows. They scribble on the cobblestones and walls through cables and wires that hang like abandoned nooses. A few restaurants welcome guests but many of the cafes are shuttered. A mist settles on the plastic-framed menus hanging beside the doors. Looking through a window, two local…
Category: Portugal
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In a flat I rest. My neighbor, her blooms are fresh. And the rich look down.