Antennas that grow like hairs over each roof. Maria Keil's tile geometries on subway stations. French cursives etched on the marble slabs of downtown corners. Idyllic moments under the green rooftops of black cabs.

Enamel chipping off windowpanes as years go by. The monotonous routine of restaurant menus. The lazy protocol of teller windows with their air purifiers. Legions of specialized patron saints.

The multicolored drama of sunsets across the river. Pink entrances of mornings over the castle. The Jules Verne style of street car interiors climbing to Graça.The complex adding up of postage fees.

Voices that whisper in the impenetrable darkness of Snob Bar. PHDs and MDs listed on shiny copper signs. The glass and iron soul inside the name of stores. Custard cakes imprisioned in paper packages.

The zoology of trycicles, of motorcycles, of Vespas. Consumer tax added by a blue ballpoint flourish. The hallucinated fluorescence of a hardware store window. All-night snack trailers with cabbies all around.

Streets and skies behind grainy glass panes. The rusty lethargy of forgotten cargo ships. Paper napkins flimsy like breezes. That's what I think of when I'm thinking of Lisboa.