world cup fever

 On my way home:

The check out boys, who are my pals, in the Haboob grocery store,  are split on who will win - one says Argentina, another is Italy all the way.  The young Iraqi guy who bags the groceries - maybe 14 years old, a refugee here - feels for me.  He says:  "You Canada.  Me Iraq.  We both bad."  He smiles in solidarity.

Closer to home, a server comes rushing out of a coffee shop,  kissing the mexican flag.  "Ana Mexico" (I am Mexico) he calls to me.  I reply: "Ana Espania".  He's happy for me.

There are flags everywhere along Rainbow Street, leading to my building.  They fly from the coffee shop patios, are taped to lamp posts, and stick out of car windows.  So far, I have noticed Italy quite a bit, and, most of all, Brazil.  Jordan didn't make the cut, of course, but that doesn't seem to matter.

Fun.