Small Town

Yesterday on the way home from work two boys got on my bus. I remember them because they were both holding stacks of hot pink brochures, probably for a "massage parlor" or something equally enticing, and one of them was wearing a hat that had gold dollar signs printed all over it. Yeah, it was ballin. Anyway, I saw them again today! I was on the bus on the way to work, and saw the guy wearing the money hat and holding the pink slips of paper walking down this random street. It was weird, and I kind of wanted to yell out the window and be like “Che, I remember you! I stared at your hat for about 10 minutes wondering where such a ghettolicious object could be purchased and trying to see what you were handing out that required such obnoxiously pink paper!” But I didn’t.

Also, I’m starting to know the drivers of the 106 colectivo, my trusty ride to and from work every day--lovely bus, white with red, blue, and green stripes; big-ass 106 on the front so you can actually read it, not like some other ones (ahem 62 with your damn neon light number that no one can read until you’re 10 feet away). Today I got on at my usual stop and the driver asked me if lived in Flores. I said no, but that I worked out there and he said that he thought he had seen me out there before. At first I thought it was blatant chamuyo (classic Argentine sweet-talking), but then he proceeded to name the streets of the stop where I wait every day after work. Again, WEIRD. I guess taking the same bus day after day means I’m bound to see some of the same drivers every once in a while.

And now for a cat update. I feel like this blog has degenerated into the Cat Chronicles…I’ll work on that, I promise. He doesn’t have herpes, phew, but the vet (conveniently located 5 doors down from me) gave us some drops to put in his eye to clear it up. So hopefully that works because I’m tired of looking at his crusty face, and I’m sure he’s tired of me constantly sticking my finger in his eye. In other news, he still cries, still chews my hair, still leans off the balcony, still wakes me up in the morning (although its more like 6 am now) by pouncing on my feet and biting my big toe. He has figured out how to open the trashcan, enjoys sitting on my bedside table and swatting things off of it, and scratches my mattress. Oh, and an awesome new trick he learned is opening the broiler to the oven and sitting inside it. One of these days someone’s going to accidentally cook the little brat…it’s all fun and games until someone broils my kitten.

*Note: I wrote this at work to post tonight, and on the bus home, I SAW DOLLAR BILLZ HAT KID AGAIN! Either he's stalking me or he really really likes the 106.