Walking towards Constitution Plaza from Independence Plaza, I count bronze Generals on horseback.

You walk down Sarandi street and come to a little plaza each block where you can sit on a bench, cross your legs, look at the clouds.

There is something sad about memorializing heroes in bronze and then placing them outside where pigeons squat on their pointed military hats and defecate on their medals. It is an unfitting end for men who have contributed so much to their country.

There are plenty of fountains on this boulevard, mostly in the center of plazas with water pouring from jars held by Roman Goddesses or shooting from the pursed lips of cherubs. These fountains sometimes have no water, waiting for maintenance men to hook up lines, clean the pond, paint the walls of the pool. Occasionally, in front of  well financed government buildings, you find ponds with water lilies and colorful fish.

In Constitution Park the fountain is generic and empty of water and I am startled because it appears one of the statues from this  fountain has been moved by delinquents in front of my McDonalds.

There is a small jar filled with money at her feet.

Stepping back and watching, I watch her lips move and I see her breathe.

The makeup on her face is thick and her hair is perfect. She remains still and doesn’t make eye contact until I drop a bill into her jar. Then she bows and smiles, reaches into a pocket and hands me my personal fortune written in Spanish, which I have since lost, but am sure it  wished me a long and prosperous life with a wife that loves me and seven or eight children who get good grades in school and go to bed on time.

I wave at her, she smiles at me, her palms opening and closing as she clicks two wood castanets. She finishes with a bow, to me, and returns to her statue position.

It is easy to get mentally lazy.

She has made this day spicy, and, for that, she is a real Goddess.




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