A dying breed?

There are still a few old-timers in Copacabana who mend things. Long may they survive to fight the tide of planned obsolescence. On the way back from the gym, I called in on Sr. Antonio, a clocksmith, who we’ve been taking clocks and watches to for at least 30 years (although HH never uses a watch, and I only get one into working order before we travel, as we never seem to need one at any other time).
 
Walking home, I came across Sr. Carlos and told him how he had scared me last night. While waiting to cross Copacabana’s busiest road, N.S. de Copacabana, in the rush hour, I saw him tooling along in his wheelchair, against the traffic and in the middle of the four lanes. He then did a right turn across them, in front of a car, which managed to stop, and then a bus, which almost didn’t. It was dark, Sr. Carlos is black and he and his wheelchair would have been barely visible from the bus driver’s position, so high above him. People in the street watched, hearts in mouths and powerless to do anything, till the bus stopped just inches away from him. He sailed on regardless down the middle of the side road.
 
When I suggested that his behaviour might not have been entirely sensible, he said something about needing to have courage in life (which he certainly has) and how people should rise to challenges. I asked to consider how the bus driver would have felt if he’d run him over (which would also probably have lost him his career), at which point, Sr. Carlos admitted that perhaps he’d had too much to drink at the time – but I bet he’ll do the same again sometime.
 
As always, we set off for the hills far later than intended and ran into traffic for the first part of the journey, but it was OK after we got out of Rio and good to be up in the hills for the evening.