And when Berlusconi resigned…

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From a cold empty hostel room, I hear that Berlusconi has resigned. It’s November 12th, 2011. On the same day, at sunset, I'm leaving Italy. It seems that we leave together then. I pack my last belongings, while I leave others I’m not interested in preserving, such as the blue and worn-out pair of Converse, such as the second handed jeans that only cost three euros in the market, such as the sweater I used to wear for running since the autumn’s beginning, such as your memories, the ones Read more [...]

Things that were left inside the inkwell

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The best kiss No, it was not with you. It was with another guy. It was with another Spanish guy. Well yes, my weakness for Spaniards is well-known. It is early in the morning, but the sun reluctantly refuses to rise with spring apathy. We are sitting on the couch, dark blue as the sky that is beyond the window. We smoke slowly, without haste, like is done with opiates. We still have on our lips the wine’s taste. We still have in our bodies the club’s heat. We still have in our hands Read more [...]

Cartagena, 13 years later

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Today we are going to Cartagena, to get together with Diego, also from the Ruta. He picks me up at Graciliano’s apartment around noon. “I’ll pick you up in 13 minutes”, he writes in a phone message. 13 was the number of his group in the Ruta. 13 the years since we met. May 13th, Ricardo’s birthday. 13, the unlucky number. Then we meet Beltran to form the dynamic trio and we start the journey. Since everything between us is always like a movie, we spend the whole trip making jokes and Read more [...]

And when the sun rose again…

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The next morning, I wake up and go to the balcony to smoke a cigarette. Slowly the sun rises, after days of rain. Sure, I leave and I take my cloud with me. Seven years ago, he said he would shut down the curtains in the attic, so it would never dawn in Madrid... But the sun filtered in, always so insolent, as a king, as the owner of everything and nothing, and with it everything else filtered in as well: years, other boyfriends, other girlfriends and an epistolary resounding silence. Some days it Read more [...]

The Vegan Dimension

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In the Madrid’s subway, specifically in Callao station, a woman introduces a chopstick into the slot for credit cards of one of the ticket machines.  The first minute goes by. Then she introduces a comb, with which she has combed her hair this morning and, more insistently, she shakes it inside the same slot. The second minute goes by. With a gesture of annoyance, she gets a driver's license and introduces it back into the slot, which by now has lost its virginity with the most unlikely objects Read more [...]