Pocitos doesn’t awake until ten in the morning.

My first time past the little diner on the corner, a block from the beach, the sign in the window says Cerrado. Doubling back, Albierto is now in place.

A plaque on the exterior says this establishment, in one form or another, has been open since 1910. A lot can go wrong in a century and surviving progress is not for sissies.

Seated, I do a leisurely check of my E-mails, send a couple of text messages.

In this century we will be linked by computer chips in our brains, our thoughts will be transmitted to others as we think, and government agencies will know us better than we know ourselves. 

My bill for a coffee and a small glass of water is seventy eight pesos. With a tip, the total is a hundred pesos, or somewhere south of five U.S. dollars. My bill is speared on a little nail, and, for a moment, seems to nail down Uruguay accurately.

What we all want is 1950’s prices to come back.

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