Sofia...

Translation: Alberto Montaño

The small Sofia is carefully placed each stock, as he only observes, sitting, and entranced by contemplating a ritual that may not mean anything for her but for a man like him can mean everything.

- I think you will be even more beautiful when you reach age 30.

- Thanks, how nice ... although in this life, can’t know for sure ...

- I'll protect you whenever you want it.

- Thank you very much! But I think not, i’ll pass ... as always. Although I appreciate your attention.

- You're welcome. It's a shame…

Everything in the room is messy. The shower is still cooling down. Utensils they are scattered all over the sink. Towels on the floor, along with several used condoms carelessly knotted. In the middle of the room there’s a furniture, that’s called pony love, as a kind of monument. Everything smells like sex. And he has now permeated, into his own skin, the tender and sweet Shell of Sofía. The memory of how her sex smell, how powerful is his youth against the maturity of someone who has lived much more. Every line he wanted to record perennially in his mind, perhaps again and again return to these memories. Maybe, just maybe, a new marble bathroom walls and vague stone sculptures, carved classic, will form a new place inside the Palace of memory. A new place, a new presence fiercely Rafaela care for his protege.

Sofia has already finished putting on her tight black dress that fits perfectly to this young thin, fascinating girl. the shoes are also black shoes. She take her purse while approaching him.

- In truth I had a great time, baby. I hope to see you soon.

- I do not know, dear. My job requires me too. I'll call you, okay? I want to see you again.

- Okay - Sofia ends to fix his black, long hair. It has already been impeccable. divine vision that another client will see in a while, “though she well and wanted to go home to rest. after all, it was a day stirrers” - but call me. Bye.

A kiss on the mouth ends his visit. And while closing the door behind him, he can not help thinking a bit in the everyday life of its strong presence: the absence of fresh gauzy love. translucent shadow of what everyone wants to own but that slips through the wounds of the tears that life exhales in its history ...