I woke up this morning, tired, empty, feeling a little sad and low. It was a tough day, the thoughest of days I have had, but I still got up, wrote a little bit, still felt empty, tried to fill a void with pastries and dulce de leche. It was ok, I knew I had a riding lesson today which would make me feel better.
I got ready to go, unsure of how to get there from our new apartment, and went forth into the streets of Buenos Aires. After a lengthy wait for a colectivo, I arrived at the barn early. I got Luchador ready, I got to use my instructor's dressage saddle, silla adiestramiento, and whooshed my worries away. I focused all of my thoughts and energy into performance, needless to say, I am progressing. Apparently muscles and sinews DO have memory. I am regaining my strength and flexibility, even though I am losing some other things in life.
After my lesson, I experiemented with going home. I took a bus that, questionably, no one takes. Even though the other bus stop was full of people, I was alone, or so I thought.
I noticed a mumbling behind my right ear, 'que linda, que hermosa, oye rubia'. In the corner of my right eye, I noticed a man, a chubby, mid-fifties man with a tight top and swimming trunks on. I also noticed that his right hand was up his right thigh, searching for change, perhaps? No. Searching for dough.
I inched away. He followed. 'Que linda, rubia, que linda'. I inched my way to the other bus stop into the haven of the public. He stood on the other side of the divide, peeking in on me, hoping I would run back to him, throw myself in his arms. Delusional man.
Finally, I saw my bus approaching, I was waving it down frantically. I noticed in the corner of my left eye, that old creepy bastard was inching away, away.