Broke...

Being broke is also a state. Money ran out and new haven´t arrived. A fortune teller once told me 'to clear my pockets of money to make room for new ones'. And so I have.
The porteño way to deal with that is to spend hours occupying the best table at the plaza, sharing a coffee and all the thick sunday papers. Sundays exist for the sole purpose of papers and of indulging in long, heavy lunches with huge red beefs accompanied by lots of wine at an outside table in a nice parrilla watching everybody else as they pass by on the street (two- and fourlegged).
Meanwhile I do the free stuff. Gym (already paid the month), taking photos (digital - no film expenses), knitting (have gorgeous alpaca wool, regrettably not vicuna), read (the former tenant left some books in English), eat the fridge empty (already bought the food, besides the thing needs a defrost so that the door might close again), suntan on the balcony (although scary from the fourteenth floor)... Life could be so light it wouldn´t be bearable.
Paythings include tango- ... and artlessons... good thing I don´t need to go to soccermatches.