I waited for you among the faded cement rocks. I could close it. Lock it and put back the crossbar. Make up a fast story to account for your disappearance: you were stolen by gypsies, the bogeyman ate you, you ran off with your father the murderer, you were swallowed up by the darkness of the Casa, you fell into a draw well, you got lost in the lofts, you must have got trapped inside some trunk you were poking around in; they'd believe anything, and only I'd know that I left you out there in the clutches of the police, who would turn you over to the doctors for them to dismember, piece by piece. You have a young body and a lot of people need your organs, and Dr. Azula is always hungry for glands and wombs, for eyes, especially for eyes, because he's looking for some eyes that he can't find and that Don Jeronimo demands he find and hand over to him, and just like that, dismembered, grafted piece by piece onto other people's bodies, divided up, you will cease to exist. But, before I could act and leave you to your persecutors, the door opened and you came in after less than ten minutes outside, humming out loud, much too loud, as if you couldn't care less about keeping things secret anymore because I, your accomplice, had the mission of covering up for you. As you passed in front of Our Lady of Lourdes, you crossed yourself without interrupting your song, negra, negra consentida, mueve tu cintura, muevete para aca, or the rhythm of your steps. You didn't even wear a guilty smile. Nothing. You were singing away. Yawning. And you slipped out of sight. I went over to bar and lock the door. You hadn't even bothered to pull it shut after you; I found it standing wide open, and the terrifying night reigning peacefully outside.🏁

I waited for you among the faded cement rocks. I could close it. Lock it and put back the crossbar. Make up a fast story to account for your disappearance: you were stolen by gypsies, the bogeyman ate you, you ran off with your father the murderer, you were swallowed up by the darkness of the Casa, you fell into a draw well, you got lost in the lofts, you must have got trapped inside some trunk you were poking around in; they'd believe anything, and only I'd know that I left you out there in the clutches of the police, who would turn you over to the doctors for them to dismember, piece by piece. You have a young body and a lot of people need your organs, and Dr. Azula is always hungry for glands and wombs, for eyes, especially for eyes, because he's looking for some eyes that he can't find and that Don Jeronimo demands he find and hand over to him, and just like that, dismembered, grafted piece by piece onto other people's bodies, divided up, you will cease to exist. But, before I could act and leave you to your persecutors, the door opened and you came in after less than ten minutes outside, humming out loud, much too loud, as if you couldn't care less about keeping things secret anymore because I, your accomplice, had the mission of covering up for you. As you passed in front of Our Lady of Lourdes, you crossed yourself without interrupting your song, negra, negra consentida, mueve tu cintura, muevete para aca, or the rhythm of your steps. You didn't even wear a guilty smile. Nothing. You were singing away. Yawning. And you slipped out of sight. I went over to bar and lock the door. You hadn't even bothered to pull it shut after you; I found it standing wide open, and the terrifying night reigning peacefully outside.🏁