\u2014But you will come back, right? The jungle is dripping, your clothes haven\u2019t dried, and the sky is thundering as if it\u2019s breaking apart. You don\u2019t have to rush; I can sleep somewhere else, on the floor, like during those months when your head was in your body but the thoughts inside it kept your body away from me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014I have to go, Carmela. Stop grinding your memories together with mine. Don\u2019t sacrifice yourself in vain, for nothing. Don\u2019t crash at full speed into that nonexistent, empty future\u2014one missing you and missing me, and even if it had room for us, I\u2019m not going there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014Wait, there\u2019s coffee and sweet bread. It\u2019s getting dark and there\u2019s no streetlight that can save you from the nahuales, the monsters; there are no matches or lanterns to light the rot of this senile hill.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014Enough already! The monstrous thing about those figures is your fears, and the darkness\u2014mine. If with metaphors you want me to stay, with metaphors I tell you I\u2019m leaving: let that darkness swallow me and chew me up; let the rotten teeth of your beasts shred me. Let me go; affection left this house before I did, spilled out somewhere\u2014by now the plants must have drunk it up. Let me go, Carmela. This town turns me to cardboard; I dishonor it with my distaste for coffee and your tendency to believe I\u2019m good.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014No, no, no, no, no. The rain is about to stop, and the coffee is ready. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u2014Does it have piloncillo?<\/p>\n\n\n\n