A Horse and Buggy, a real menace!
The horse drawn buggy, filled with fresh watermellons, caused suspicion. You just don't see that very often these days in downtown Buenos Aires, do you? A sturdy brown horse with a tired languid look, the sagging wooden walls of the buggy, luckily having survived World War II, and the happy-go-lucky driver unaware of the lurking danger of...
Well, more or less because suddenly he was surrounded by pistol toting police on a side street in San Telmo, this city's colonial district, and a few passersby gathered around and scratched their brains, as I did, trying to imagine what horrible deed the baby-faced driver might have committed.
Could the crime have been the horse's droppings on the street? At least they are more pure than the scoffing cloud of carbon dioxide expulsed by the cars and buses.
Don't tell me! You think those juicy looking watermellons had been injected with drugs to beguile innocent bystanders into the habit of consuming crack?
Or was it the sweat of the poor animal, which no doubt had not been dabbed with spray on perfume to disguise its unmitigated
body oder.
Still worse, might there not have been some horrible conspiracy in the process?
Meanwhile time goes on. Street people still pick through garbage bags at night or approach prosperous tourists to beg for a coin. A record number of Argentines end their lives smashing their cars into other vehicles or bouncing to their death on narrow, bumpy and badily paved
highways...Lovers, who thought their love would last a century, grasp their hearts in dismay and beat their brains out trying to find the cause for what probably has none. And over here and over there former oil tycoons lick their chops at the prospect of producing ethanol...
And, just to be balanced, in the midst of this world of unending hlows and counter blows, terror and
counter-terror,children's gay laughter still rings out as fresh and uninhibited as the chirp of bird at sunset.
Oh. Frankly, we don't know what happened to the buggy driver at the police station. But with great sadness we conclude that never again will he venture to sell his juicy watermellons in downtown Buenos Aires.
Well, more or less because suddenly he was surrounded by pistol toting police on a side street in San Telmo, this city's colonial district, and a few passersby gathered around and scratched their brains, as I did, trying to imagine what horrible deed the baby-faced driver might have committed.
Could the crime have been the horse's droppings on the street? At least they are more pure than the scoffing cloud of carbon dioxide expulsed by the cars and buses.
Don't tell me! You think those juicy looking watermellons had been injected with drugs to beguile innocent bystanders into the habit of consuming crack?
Or was it the sweat of the poor animal, which no doubt had not been dabbed with spray on perfume to disguise its unmitigated
body oder.
Still worse, might there not have been some horrible conspiracy in the process?
Meanwhile time goes on. Street people still pick through garbage bags at night or approach prosperous tourists to beg for a coin. A record number of Argentines end their lives smashing their cars into other vehicles or bouncing to their death on narrow, bumpy and badily paved
highways...Lovers, who thought their love would last a century, grasp their hearts in dismay and beat their brains out trying to find the cause for what probably has none. And over here and over there former oil tycoons lick their chops at the prospect of producing ethanol...
And, just to be balanced, in the midst of this world of unending hlows and counter blows, terror and
counter-terror,children's gay laughter still rings out as fresh and uninhibited as the chirp of bird at sunset.
Oh. Frankly, we don't know what happened to the buggy driver at the police station. But with great sadness we conclude that never again will he venture to sell his juicy watermellons in downtown Buenos Aires.
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