The River Knows Which Way

To go downtown, I took the famous Tram 28, which happens to be close to my Graca abode. It had been a day full of rain, but the sun slipped out by the time I got to Chiado and the upscale crowd. I sat down under an umbrella next to a heater. The waiter, when he brought my tea, straightened and smoothed the table cloth, moving my book to do so. He set down the plate and cup, silver pot, and napkin holder, composing them over the table as if arranging flowers.
Heading home on 28, dusk now, I wasn't sure of my stop. "Do you know where we are?" I heard a burly fellow say to his girlfriend. "No idea," she said. That made three of us, but here I am, three doors from home, beer in hand (or close to it)--CSI dubbed in Portuguese right above me.