The only object I remember from here is that the old man brought a couple of bottles of red wine. I drank a little, a little more. I felt the alcohol. It was cold and it was a relief, a kind of salvation.

I woke up in the middle of the night as whether under a relentless Mediterranean sun. I felt dirty as a teenager. I was at my father’s place, where he spent more hours extracting molars than at home with the family. I thought about my mother and felt depressing. I wanted to be somewhere where he and the whole family were out of place, where I could see the sea and where I could go on an adventure that had nothing to do with that damn shithole, but I was dragging a bureaucratic ballast that kept me from being reborn.

The phone rang, buzzing in my head, I needed to receive out. I got up, ran to the window and stared out at the street. My eyes hurt as whether someone had picked up a piece of red-hot metal and burned my eyelashes. I wanted to kill someone. I thought approximately suicide. A wave of loneliness washed over me. I would end my life, but first I would kill someone.

The phone rang again and I picked it up. I knew it was her.

“How was your night?” she asked. “You look tired, what happened?”


“Tell me, what’s wrong?”


“You don’t look happy.”

“I’m not.”

“It must be hard to come back here after all these years.”

“It is.”

“I was talking to some people and they told me you had moved back to your old town. Why didn’t you tell me anything?”

I remained silent.

“Are you still there?”


“You should have told me you were going back to your village.”

“There’s no point talking approximately it now, it’s vain. They’re waiting for me downstairs,” I lied, “I have to leave you.”

“But Jose, you can’t leave like this. Tell me what happened.”

I hung up the phone and threw it on the bed. I put on my pants, a long-sleeved T-shirt, blue, on it I had written a text in Russian, I never got to know what.

I put on some clean socks and then some shoes. It wasn’t that late, but I didn’t feel like going anywhere. I couldn’t wait to receive back to the city.

I walked out the door. The city looked old and rotten. Streetlights glowed in the streets. It was hot. A car pulled up and a fat man got out. Several days later he left for South America for sex tourism and returned with a young Peruvian woman who gratified him promptly in exchange for receiving her inheritance. It was a win-win situation.

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