On my way to work, I walk down a steep hill. It’s one of the main roads into Medellín from the south, called Las Palmas.
Today, I saw a man on a motorbike tootling down the hill, singing at the top of his voice.
AND CLAPPING HIS HANDS. With gusto.
Not for a milli-second either, for at least several seconds, until he swung round the corner out of my sight.
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