Her coffee cup steamed a spot on the window. The samba played in the background, it reminded her of her home island across the Andes and the Pacific. She shifted from left to right with the rhythm, the coffee sloshing accordingly. 

The Earth rotated and cars commuted. 

She wondered what this great adventure would hold. The first day in a new apartment was always a moment of pause for such considerations. The gray sky and drizzle of a winter wasn’t exactly what she imagined. 

August in South America is winter. Strange the planet we live on she mused. 

The coffee warmed spot remained on the window as she lifted the cup to her mouth. She sipped the bitter liquid and releshed its warmth. Maybe she would have to switch to mate. When in Rome, eh? 

Was it pronounced mate like Aussie for friend, or mat-eh like her boyfriend had told her?

Guess she’d find out at the market later. 

It was strange to look down at a foreign place that was to become home. The shops that were a blur when they moved into the apartment from the hostel passed unremarked, but will soon become staples. 

The local bar that will hold so many memories is down there amongst the puddles and the taxis, bread shops to be discovered, bus stops to be deciphered. 

For now though, the samba still played, and the coffee still fogged the window. 

These first days are tough to remember actually. Unfortunately the brain fills in the details learned later. It will seem like we always knew the good bread shop was the one around the corner, the one across the street’s bread was all air bubbles and no taste. 

Our mind will know that the lady at the market two blocks down has always dreamed of going to Asia and gives discounts to Asians. 

None of that is know now, but when our scattered brains weave the tapestry of recollection it will be included. 

Strange how memories seem so linear, but details seem to be filled in non-canonically. 

For now, though, she can live in a moment, breath air and sip coffee that will be remembered, all wrong in detail, but the sweet feel of excitement will not fade. 

She opened the door to the terrace. She stuck her hand out and felt the rain drops. The cool drops still felt good, a refreshing waterfall after a hike. The smell of the wet city filled her nostrils, mixed with the coffee and released more endorphins. 

Each moment of the memory, this calm before the storm of figuring out this teeming city was sweet. 

No city will be discovered in the confines of the apartment though. Adventure awaited, breadshops to be judged, bus lines to be decoded.

She finished her coffee in one gulp and grabbed her umbrella. Yellow. She smiled at the memory of her highschool protest days. She opened the door, checked she had her key, and set off into the world memories are made of.

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