Avenida Paulista

for me,it remains magic. music, acting, buildings, intrigues. a series like many others. but fascinating in a gray Romania of last decade for Ceaușescu regime. a kind of window with Turkish silhouettes and a language like dark honey. a sparkle. characters, tension of relations between them, first images from a town so far than it can be slice of fairy tale more than street in Sao Paolo. and, sure, the evenings. around TV like in a strange rite of ambiguous religion. after years, only remembers. as crumbs from a cake or only as mark of its lines in cooking book. after years, it remains not a good/bad work, not basket for soap opera nuances but a myth. as part of an age. as piece of a past image.