Screaming vagabonds

Last night we went to the movies to celebrate Brazilian Independence Day. We saw Os Normais 2, a physical comedy shtick that taught me two new hilarious Portuguese slang words for "vagina," insulted the entire state of Bahia (racially?) and managed to work a baby sloth into the plot - brilliant.

The theater is near the top of a tall hill, and by the time we had lopped to the bottom, those potatoes I had pealed and cut up for dinner were simply not going to do the trick. Fortunately, there is a cheap restaurant at the bottom of the hill.

Now, this street during the day is a busy shop lined avenue. At night, however, it is the great divide between light and dark. Marginal and mainstream. Vagrancy and... dinner.

Basically the street lights on the side of the road opposite the restaurant have been burned out since I got here shrouding the area in darkness. This has facilitated the growth of a HOBO COLONY.

I'm not sure when they set up shop or where they go during the day, but after dark a cardboard city springs up. Pedestrians cross over to the well-lit restaurant side, which conducts a lively business. Well, my laziness landed us there last night as well.

It was disconcerting to say the least to eat dinner some 20 feet away from a homeless person, cracked out and screaming incomprehensibly for a good ten minutes at his friends. The entire restaurant collectively shuddered when he stormed off down the street flailing his arms and sputtering.

City dwellers can sympathize with scenes like this one that push you towards the "clean up the rabble" argument. Then there are the little moments that remind you of their humanity like the ancient woman napping on a door step that makes you wish you could "do something." Like poverty, tacky clothing and other social problems, I'm sure the solution is complex.

In the meanwhile, I sure do hope they managed to resolve their problem last night. A HOBO WAR just doesn't seem like it'd be in anyone's interests.