There are days when you are transported

to those shadowy underworlds of fantasy novels you read as a child, the ripples of word pictures coming back to haunt you with a sort of dejâ-vu...

It has to be almost raining. And the wind must be just right. But when the conditions are perfect, sometimes I feel exactly eight and a half again, with my head turned into the wind, sure that I am preparing to witness a miracle, a supernatural anomaly, something to explain why my skin is a mess of goosebumps and my scalp tingling with anticipation (or fear?)...

I was standing at the bus stop on Democraticos today at 1:27 pm when two men clattered by in a rickety cart pulled by a mangy horse and three full-grown pigs tied down sideways to the cart's wooden floorboards...and then a bicycle came towards me, the man at the handlebars driving hard and against the wind as his long trench coat fluttered like a pair of ragged black wings behind him...something between a Nasgul, the Wicked Witch of the West, and a Susan Cooper novel...and then the light turned green and everything went more or less back to normal.

I still felt haunted all day.

That could be because the man across the street has made it his new pastime to stare at my house. He's there almost every time I pass the window in my front room. He's more than a bit odd, and appears to be interested in the "gringa" as he's given me both his telephone number, a lame invitation to go out sometime, and a thinly veiled request to be invited to one of my now-famous parties. Gr. Not interested. "I only go out in groups..." with creepy neighbors I don't know. And I invite who I want, thank you very much. (When Junior was over today I asked him about that guy and if I know my friend at all, he'll find a way to let the dude know he should get lost. Or at least keep his eyes away from the second story window...)

And that's all for today, folks.