A man standing on a bamboo scaffolding in balance between the two sides of a narrow calle, thin as a shrub, gnarled, bearded, attracted Julia’s attention. He was applying colored tiles on a ledge of the building. Just above the scaffolding, a metal protrusion supported a small deck under construction. The multi-storey structure rested on bamboo legs, bent to the movement of the man, then resumed its position. The man used several baskets full of scraps of colored glass, glued a few at a time on the façade, took a step back to look, glued some more tiles. He did not say a word but sang softly, Julia could barely hear him. His words were these.
Orange juice, scissors and glue,
I was with Helen on the hill,
pliers, hammers and bolts,
we stayed there through the night.