The Red Dot Of Lisboa

Wewere sitting at a pizza place at the railway station. The DJ played his set, occasionally interrupted by the arrival of passing trains. Not a usual location for a party, I’ll give you that, but surprisingly suitable. The hostess brought us beers in metal cups and two pieces of square pepperoni pizza. She then got a beer for herself and sat down for a little chat. “So, how did you find us?” she asked with a strong French accent. “We googled,” I said. “Henry is everywhere. It was the first thing I saw when we arrived.” It was true. The taxi dropped us at the boarding house in the middle of the night, and the only thing I saw before going up the stairs was a large graffiti on the opposite wall, stating that someone named Henry loved me for no apparent reason, decorated with a red dot. The next day we spotted a mysterious red dot all over Lisboa. With a few exceptions, such as telling us that “life is good,” dots were followed by the same question — who the fuck is Henry. <a href="https://medium.com/ellemeno/the-red-dot-of-lisboa-d49b44dd30d7">Click Here</a>