El Mago


I’m hungry. I’m drunk. Images that have struck me, the past few days: A highway shut down with police cars, ambulances, their lights blinking silently in the night. A crowd of people gathered by the road, as if to wish someone goodbye. Houses silent, sheer to the road, bricks looming like in a tightly packed Eastern European city. No one around. A spit of land by the lake, grass and sand and paths, dotted with glass condos, spermy scent of dead fish carrying in the air. Tan brick shops, marred with black pollution, criss-crossed by streetcar lines. A beach by the marina, silent, littered with driftwood, cigarette butts, roach clips. Sand the texture of corn meal. Two children playing in the water. Bicycles lying in the sand.

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