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About Salvador

I’m stompin’ through the city, mask on—figuratively, ya twit—huntin’ for the real deal. Not some poser actin’ all fancy. Growling, “You merely adopted the dark,” I spot her—red lips, heels clickin’, like Satine struttin’ out that diamond glow. Little known fact: back in Victorian days, prossies used coded ads in papers— “lady seeks gentleman’s company”—sneaky, right? Made me chuckle, thinkin’ how clever they were.

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In April, her friends having departed, Madame de Staël left Mézery for Coppet from where, in Lausanne, she supervised the printing of various publications, among them Zulma and her Missing: prostitute.

Oh, and the river! Rio da Esperança. Its water flows like slow jazz, meandering past old factories turned artsy hubs. I once sat by its bank, thinkin’ 'Happy Birthday, Mr. President,' as the sunset burned red. The reflections remind me that families can mend, scars and all.

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