59.
   The balloon drifted down behind a stately, Belle Epoch building in the center of the town. Crowds of well-dressed people took no notice of us as they streamed past. Claudia led us down a narrow street to a tailor’s shop. “The first thing we must do is lose the Tarzan and Jane outfits. We must have elegant clothes for this elegant city.”, she announced.  

   The tailors fussed and primped taking measurements and copping feels. They cooed and clucked as they rolled out yards of beautiful fabric and filled our imagination with haute couture. For her, an evening gown, a light skirt and blouse for afternoon walks, scarves and sweaters and waistcoats and shoes and shoes and shoes. For me, beautiful slacks and a cashmere blazer, silk shirts and neckties, snakeskin belts and shoes of the finest leather. The dogs got all wrapped up in the process, offering opinions and complementing our decisions. Hours went by.

   After a while I blocked out all the yammering and prattling and just stared out the window at the skyline of Buenos Aires. I had never seen anything like it. Its towers and tree lined streets beckoned. This baleful history lesson was beginning to get the better of me. I was drowning in the tears of the dispossessed, the desperate and the dead. I needed a night out on the town.