A dog in a stroller in front of the Duarte mausoleum.
Being foreign, I feel fantastically invisible. Like being underwater and looking up. There is also the same distortion and fractured light. I am rumpled. And in the morning, I sit on a roof on the Avenida de Mayo and I drink coffee and think about putting dulce de leche on my bread, but I don't because it's too early for that kind of sweetness. And I could do anything with my day.