FRAGMENTS OF SOMETHING WRITTEN
ON A TRIP TO BAHIA BLANCA
I'm in myself, getting away from me, maybe undestanding what I never understand.
Not much has happened. It has happended all that could be expected. I found a dead dog in a park, lying over it guts, on one side of the road. The flies made their nests, and I thought in the emptyness of all of this, in that a disease changes the things and doesn't change them...
