His face is round, like his nose. I could almost say that he’s Greek, but the accent is so southwest American that I doubt everything (and I imagine everything). His voice is dark, and old, and reminds me of late-life Cohen. He speaks slowly, his eyes slightly open behind the glasses. I find him sitting in front of a closed restaurant named “The House of Sins”. The sun hits him in the face. He is very tanned. The beard is very white, and the hat is very bright. He smokes, of course. He has the gravitas of a movie character. He laughs when I say that I’m going to take a lunch nap at my house. He listens seriously when I talk about the melancholy of houses, old and new. And he doesn’t say goodbye when I leave. He just nods. He’s the perfect sidekick for the M & A team that works next to my house. I imagine him receiving guests form abroad, taking them to their rented holiday flats, saying a few words about Lisbon and its light. Maybe he’ll tell them something like “The guy living upstairs, he’s a lawyer. He finds that spaces are full of feelings and that silence is the greatest song you’ll ever hear. He also thinks there’s a lot of beauty in despair and that there are movies and characters everywhere around us. He’s new to the building. You’ll see him, he’s always wearing a suit, no tie, and with a red backpack. He naps at lunch. He also listens to bands with weird names. Like this one.”