Laughing at our friends, we avenge the disappointment they have caused.
I feel affluent or not according to what part of town I am in.
Art chooses its constraints.
Nostalgia keeps dissolving the ironic narratives in which I have contained my past.
As I criss-cross the city hurrying, I feel always the unchanging cold beneath the pavement.
For some, bottles of liquor gleam like the towers of Eldorado.