Watching the movie “Sidewalls” the other night, an Argentine film about loneliness, love, idiosyncracies, and architecture, I longed for the city. I miss those nights walking along the Coronel Diaz, peeping into the shoe stores, watching young lovers kiss, brushing by strangers wondering what their stories were. The little biscochos with my coffee, tiny cafes, bleak overwhelming greyness of concrete, kioskos, subtes, boliches, days started late and nights that bled into day. Argentine lingo on post-its stuck to the wall, Borges classes, dog walkers, feria de recoleta, even draw-string toilet flushes. Mullet haircuts, mate galore, hand gestures, words like “pelotudo”, hodgepodge buildings, sunny afternoons, uncomfortable bus rides, and destornilladores. The little things are what make you fall in love with a city. Even when everyone else is in a rush to get somewhere or see something else, you notice these little things, and later come to miss them.