tra-la-la land

vauxhall goes karaoke. saturday night, the portuguese bars burst with singing masters, dancing children, laughing families. a couple of adolescents -- dressed for a dance, first-date-excited -- ask me for a cigarette. i ask if they know how to roll-up...their raised eyebrows shrivel me to nothingness. a little man, smoking a fag on his own, cheers me up with an impromptu serenade on my way to catch the end of the x-factor.