Writer

If you see a parked car with a plastic jug casually placed on the roof, this means the car is for sale.
Do not flush any toilet paper down the toilet. For that matter, try not to flush anything down the toilet at all.
Buying ice cream by the kilogram is awesome.
Eating four empanadas in one sitting is no big deal.
Like father, like daughter.

I live in a suburb of the capital federal of Buenos Aires, called Lomas de Zamora.
This is a factory town, and a couple of blocks away are two large factories that produce cookies and carbonated water bottles, respectively. In fact, for my first week I kept smelling this aroma, like fresh waffles, on my morning walk and I could not figure it out. I would walk with my nose in the ear, like a Beagle, trying to ascertain the origin of the enticing smell. After asking around, we were directed to the alfajor factory. Case closed, cookies in hand.

The clubbing does not start until 2 in the morning.
Politically correct does not apply here.
The men can dance, and dance they do.
Don't even joke about soccer, for reals.
The clothing stores on Santa Fe carry one size fits all, but obviously they mean one size fits all porteñas. I even got the salesgirl to laugh when I attempted to pull a skirt up over my butt.
The pastries rival those of Paris.
Che lives on.

So there are these sisters: Iara, Brisa, y Priscilla. Their faces resemble one another's, and they wear their long hair in ponytails with its natural wave, though sometimes the little one wears hers down. They sit together, eat together, and whisper to each other all day long. I have wanted to be a part of their circle since the first hour, and after four days, I am in.

On Friday, I witnessed a heartbreaking act of racism at the school. There is this boy, his name is Gonzálo, and even though he is at least 10 years old, he sits at the little kids' table. At first I thought it was because he prefers to sit with his kid sister, and I am sure that is the reason alot of the time, but I soon realized he is not always welcome at the other "big boys'" table. Gonzálo is brown, but he is dark brown. I do not know where he lives, but there is a big villa a few blocks away and it is probable he lives there.

TOMS shoes. Have you heard of them? Do you own a pair? Have you seen their classic, natural style walking down the streets in your neighborhood? The thing is, I had heard of their campaign, but never really spent any time thinking about their campaign. One for one. They pledge: With every pair you purchase, TOMS will give a new pair of shoes to a child in need. One for One.

Let's have a roll call, shall we?
When you hear your name, raise your hand and tell us how it happened. Let's start with the person closest to me:
ZOE! Z, that's me, and the kids took my camera back in Spring (that's Autumn to you guys). Then, last week a car rolled up, a man jumped out, grabbed my backpack, and was back in the car before I could even say goodbye to my laptop and my passport. And my journal!! My freaking journal!

Setting: We set up shop on a cement slab that separated the dirt road from a makeshift concrete court. Two tables and a dozen chairs for the kids to color their cartoons, play Memory, or practice reading. The rocky, dusty road is littered with trash and feces and stray dogs that flip from fighting to chewing each other´s fleas every few minutes. There are men leaning back on chairs, sweat streaming down their brown chests while they wax poetic about who knows what. Teenagers smoking. Teenagers with a baby on each hip.

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