From the port of Santa Maria of Buenos Aires, the city as a desert where we can not expect mercy or no relief. Black and sound vessels. Orchestral trains. Abandoned children. Lights of methylene blue. Theater lobbies. Broad avenues. Straight narrow streets. Studies outdated. Air collisions. Smokeless chimneys. Identical letters. Furtive encounters. Prefabricated swamps. Slimy beds. Prohibited Islands. Almost a million books. Stone angels. Allegorical stones. Songwriters locals body and soul.
The people of Buenos Aires, known as the Paris of the Americas, live life to the fullest.