From the doorway of La Crónica Santiago looks at the Avenida Tacna without love: cars, uneven and faded buildings, the gaudy skeletons of posters floating in the mist, the gray midday. At what precise moment had Peru fucked itself up? The newsboys weave in and out among the vehicles halted by the red light on Wilson, and he starts to walk slowly toward Colemena... He was like Peru, Zavalita was, he'd fucked himself up somewhere along the line. He thinks: when? ... He thinks: there's no solution. He sees a long line at the taxi stop for Miraflores, he crosses the square, and there's Norwin, hello, at a table at the Zela Bar, have a seat, Zavalito, fondling a chilcano and having his shoes shined, he invites him to have a drink. He doesn't look drunk yet and Santiago sits down.
"Conversation in the Cathedral," Maria Vargas Llosa
[Damen Avenue above Haddon Street]
- ► 2011 (107)
- seeing snatches and staticky fragments
- working did to the trouble what gin did to the pai...
- they help to photograph thought
- don't give a damn
- relating a person to the whole world
- if they would only purr
- adore explosions
- authentic primitive
- all around in the dark
- At what precise moment had Peru...
- you cannot read me like an open book
- the strength of a majority is illusory
- to show people
- that still happens
- gaudy day
- woke on a sudden manhattan
- collector's passion
- fairly shrewd idea
- ▼ January (21)
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