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My House is a Parking Lot

A tale of greed

For 25 years, I looked at the stars from a cement terrace on this very spot. Today, the cold cement on my back at dawn has turned into a tarred concrete parking lot at my feet, and what used to be my grandparents’ house, where the nights were dark and the sky was closer, turned into a viaduct supporting a kind of highway with secondary road traffic, which skips the valleys and pierces the mountains of the high mountains of the Madeiran capital as if avoiding submitting to the curves of reason and values other than those of concrete and corporate greed.

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