Saturday, 22 February 2014

Miradoura De Sao Pedro De Alcantara

Just for the fun of it, from a sling chair in this grand miradoura, or viewpoint, where I can pan from the sea to the far north, let's hear things--chairs and voices in the café behind me, those double thumps of the espresso gizmo on the plastic tub, traffic beyond that, the fountain fifty feet to my right, footsteps on the crushed stone (the same Swedes I saw watching hockey in the pub yesterday), Portuguese pop, shutters releasing, bags put down, aircraft (and I don't mean pigeons, though I hear them too, flopping from the lampposts). Oops, there goes a broken plate.

Let's imagine a few while we're at it--a map opened and routes to Graca explored, what those lovers say, what's next ordered at the café, a "won't need the umbrella after all," and sounds of a hat taken off, a chair shifted to face west.

Earlier, a pack of tourists on Segways rolled in. "Hey, let's shoot some video," one of them said, initiating races around the fountain.

I hear my own "small glass of beer, please" and her "of course". Later it's the sound the glass of beer makes set down on a plastic table, rattling a spoon. My own thoughts seem noisy, and the clouds have moved in again, I hear. That was my yawn, too. Time to head home.

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