At 6:30am it is already steamy, like in that tropical greenhouse in the garden, and the religious school near the park looks vaguely colonial. There is a jungle of trees near it and some extremely loud birds – I think they are the escapee parrots that settled in the cemetery on a day foraging trip – that make it look, smell and sound positively tropical.
I close my eyes and pretend I’m in São Paulo or San Juan or Santo Domingo or some other warm fragrant place that begins with San…