I cannot touch it, but in the wind.
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A little slice of Buenos Aires cultural life in a moment of reflection, fleeing the relentless rain.
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I have known her well, as long as I've been conscious of my own existence.
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"She'd take it off and put it back on, flick it, spin it on the kitchen table. Thought of melting it in the oven, throwing it out the window, letting it slip through the open drain in the bathroom."
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