Amor do Tempo

Like most mornings I woke with a start. The loud screech of metal wheels on metal tracks startling me from a dream forgotten before my eyes opened. When I had first arrived I’d loved that sound, the sound of Alfama, of freedom. But after 3 years of not being able to sleep through, it was just another distraction. Another annoyance. It was still dark.

I’d thought this was going to change me. The thousands of miles would let me see the world in a different way, and it had, for the first few months. The romance of a new town, of a new language, of fresh faces and and different people. As I’d stayed here longer they became just another facet of life. My adventuring spirit had become again a search for the next meal, the Lusophones a reminder I did not belong.

My alarm went off again, the sun now shining through my open window, the breeze off the Tagus pushing gently at my curtains. Sitting up, my eyes adjusting to the little screen I searched for the combination to turn it off. 7, 5, 7, 5. It’s the only way I could force myself up these days, sharply …

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