There was a poetic group in the club last Sunday. It reminds me my childhood when my mother and I used to go downtown and there was an organ grinder and his parrot. But this time there is no parrot but a puppet. The Muppet chose a piece of paper and I read the poem while a guy plays an accordion. I read the poem and people got around to listen to the poem. The poem is The Guests by the Brazilian poet Mário Quintana. I took only one picture because I was so delighted that I forgot to take much more.
The guests by Mário Quintana
This life is a strange inn
From where we almost always go away wildly
Because our suitcases are never packed
And our bill is never paid on time...