From Avenida Almiral Reis I disappear inside histories of other people, some less some more fortunate.
Later, Mouraria, the barrio where Pedro Faria resides, the shabby, Moorish neighboourhood north of the castle, surrounds us, on the map surrounded by hundreds of other places,
with a noisy dog on one of the floors, it's his way of complaining Pedro says,
there's little shops in the street closed at night, no sign indicating any activity whatsoever, but at morning,
there they are, the lady of the fruits and vegetable shop, a man smoking a cigarette in front of a leiteria, two men discussing the engine of an old car in the year 323 after Dodo.
Looking through the window on second floor of Largo das Olarias 44 I notice houses constructed in such way that it could be the ruins
coming from another age, after Lisbon got destroyed by an eartquake again bigger than that one of seventeenhundred and a bit.
No one rebuild it hereafter.