It was already eleven in the morning and he wouldn’t wake up. I shaked his left hand but he moved his face in both sides, looked at me and then soflty closed his eyes looking so pale I thought he was needing more rest. And he rested till three thirty in the afternoon when he came into the room Anthony was standing in his head looking so elegant and immature both, inseparable. I told him about how I found our last two packages of tobacco in the toilet again. He gestured he didn’t mind.
I knew he was getting to feel hopeless about belonging to a place and by that I mean a street, room, language, friend, taste of water.