Daniel walks into the station, strips off his pullover and wrings it out. I see his self-made plastic shirt. Made out of a plastic bag, with openings for the head and arms. Under it he wears a shirt that is, despite of his creation, soaked with water. He also strips off these shirts while Paola watches his naked chest with glancing eyes. It keeps on raining.
My coat continues calling the attention of Fidel. I show him the lining of plastic. In Europe its a bit cheap to use plastic material for clothes. But Fidel thinks its a perfect design. "A raincoat with plastic lining, what else do you want?" he says.
One by one the cartoneros arrive at the station. Slowly, shuffling, with just some kilos of paper. Some of them have a raincoat but most of them are dressed in the greyish plastic. Everybody is soaked. Water is dripping from their heads. The romanticism of the poverty is not present today.
I give Fidel a cigarette, a Lucky. "Till Monday," says Fidel. "Till Monday," I say. It didnt stop raining that night.