…And I couldn’t be happier. A great day on Saturday (at least I think it was Saturday) gave way to last night, when I turned up in Lapa (party central at any time of year) sober. The attempts at pulling had become more agressive and joyless, like the spasms of an animal that has already died (I forget why they do this; something to do with electrical impulses).
Lifeless, dead eyes; a man kicking another man who was already lying on the ground, unmoving; police threatening a group of child robbers with sticks (the child robbers were crowded under the arches with us, but there was nothing we could do except hold on to our phones and money because it was pissing down with rain); rivers of urine flowing down the street to meet the tide of litter and rainwater.
It’s been good at times, but I can’t help rebelling from the universal gurning and grinning assumption that all partying is good. Maybe I’m just too old for it. The man with chattering teeth, who stood alone in the bar we finally escaped to last night, interrupting us occasionally to eat our spare bits of food which had dropped on the table, was probably not on the good side of 50 however.
Maybe it’s just that things go in cycles, and now it’s time for order, peace, diligent hard work and normality. Though since I haven’t found any of those things in the past eight months of being here, it’s unlikely to happen suddenly now.