Translated from Spanish by Kelsi Vanada
Your parents were always together. They belonged to the same sidewalk. As kids they saw the same tanks and enjoyed, in faded colors, the electricity-less evenings. When they met, they were efficient: they didn’t need metaphors.
When they were told to choose, they said, “No way.”
In contrast, we climbed up to the roof of a hotel to celebrate our insomnia, and we signed a contract. Talked every night so we could fall out of the flow of time. The strike’s getting closer, I sniff it like I do love. We’ll have to choose, like them. I don’t know if your mother will let you go outside with me.