This piece hails from the vault. It is a true story peopled with some colorful characters from the Argentine cultural scene: an artist who used to hang out with Andy Warhol and built a Parthenon of books and an impresario who lived in a glam church. It also hails from a time when three pesos still meant something.
I have an old pair of cowboy boots. They have ridden long in stirrups, rested heavily on gas pedals across entire continents, and crunched over countless other miles when I had neither horse nor car to my name. They are the relics of a life lived on two feet.
I am drawn to the things I cannot see
Pieces just out of perceptual reach
What is well-lit does not interest me
What is hazy and hard to discern
And makes my stomach quiver