The only thing left of what we shared on that little appartment were the rolling curtains. Somehow I was expecting to see you there, even tough you’ve been living since October in a different country. I was hoping to see your silhouette, but the lights were off and the only thing I could recognize were the curtains.
Joaquin Sabina was crying through my ipod, Los prisioneros, Feist. Cruisin’ Santiago by bus was the only therapy I could afford.