on the morning of our fourth visit to panama’s centro medico nacional i feel no urgency to arrive. every day alex and i come here and wait. every day we meet with a different doctor, and every day i pay. it’s a disturbing pattern i’d like to break. so when we pull in, i tell alex i’ll wait out front.

it’s just before 10. already there’s a heaviness over panama city, a promise of what i like to call, the burning hours. street sounds desperately struggle in the thick air. read more»

this morning there are three taxis waiting on the corner of via argentina.

“taxi mister, taxi, - this way mister.”

the drivers don’t say a word as the dirty man with crazy hair pretends to help. he points to a beat up taxi in the middle. read more»