Las Cañitas and Palermo Hollywood
In these neighborhoods, the trash problem is handled with bins on posts on the sidewalks. Unfortunately, they seem largely ignored and too infrequent.
Needing no explanation:
After several hours on our feet, we were ready to try a parrilla recommended by a childhood friend from Connecticut. She is still a fiery redhead with milky skin offset by the circle of green peridots at the end of the long sterling holder into which she screwed a succession of clove cigarettes. Originally a librarian content to just read about life, she caught the eye of an Argentine friend of Alexander Haig when the two entered her reference room to research some local real estate history. He seemed to have married her in Buenos Aires but she says the ceremony was blurred by the language barrier and a hangover. The day he left her for a another readhead (but with a promise of perpetual extravagant support), she spat at him and then tearfully kissed him goodbye. She wants for nothing, has never learned Spanish and has always had her pick of the local boys. She brought us to El Primo and it was wonderful. The roasted red pepper and eggplant in garlic and oil! The steak! The chimichurri sauce! The malbec! The helados! We will be back for more.
Later, we paused before a salon that helps folks be more like Jesus.