Cómo es la clave, cuál el secreto?

I arranged my semi-permanent living space. As always, it isn't about YOU necessarily, but who YOU know. I am certainly not the most connected individual in Bs As, but this adage defined the situation. I secured a breezy and light room in an antiquated 19th century building. I am on the top floor, complete with my own patio that over looks 9 de julio. I am within minutes of three subway lines and a super pancho shop (foot long hot dogs with french fries on them). The apartment is only $200 a month! I am pleased with this. I was talking to a local last night. He was quite jealous and probably upset that me, a silly gringo, got such a good deal. I just tilted my head back and laughed hysterically in his face. No, that last part wasn't true. 

(My apartment is just left of the giant Mercedes Benz billboard; right of the giant, phallic obelisk)

~

Saw my fourth (in life total) motorcycle accident last night. A motorcyclist blew through  a 4 way stop. A taxi, also competing for the same land speed record, California-stopped at 60 through the same intersection. Taxi proceeded to clip the biker. Taxi won. 

I walked over and there were already a few other people mulling around, some of who were there to assist and some of who were there to stare and point. He seemed to be alive, as he was moaning and trying to get up. Then, from across the street I heard a man yell something. It was a police officer. He gingerly strolled across through the intersection, as if he had all the time in the world. He stopped, stared at the man on the ground, looked at the bike, the taxi and the people. Assessing the situation, or so it seems, he stood there with his hands on his hips for a second before inquiring about "What happened?". After some frantic dialog that I could not interpret, he called what I could only assume to be an ambulance/medical attention. 

Subsequently, after witnessing 4 motorcycle accidents (2 of which were life ending), I have concluded that perhaps motorcycles are not the most appropriate form of transportation in some situations, one being in Latin American cities where no one stops at intersections.

As a bicyclist commuter I am well aware of the road hierarchy. If a vehicle larger than myself is entering the intersection (such as a dump truck or bus), I will give them the right of way. It is being courteous. Anything smaller (such as other bicyclists, pedestrians with rolling suitcases, or men wearing flower dresses with baby carriages filled with empties), I will dominate with right of way and perhaps yell at them. This basic rule does not seem to carry to other regions of the world, mainly Latin America, where on both occasions I have witnessed a motorcyclist come up against a taxi and lose. It seems to be a rivalry that runs deep in the blood of taxi/motorcycle operators here. Somethings a gringo like me, will just never understand.