In the city I heard the sounds of women chanting in sidewalk churches. There were sparks of sunlight reflecting on spotless Sunday attire, flickering over the dirty street. Echoes from puddles of water stained with oil and salt, sitting like guard dogs at the entrance of old apartment buildings. There were windows too, and doors and balconies, or what once were windows, doors and balconies, concealed by drying clothes that almost wanted to make the structures sail away into oblivion. But they struggled, they couldn’t.