Replying...
Intro. (Lima, 2015. The June garúa soaks the streets of Miraflores without rain, sticking to the skin like a premonition. It's almost eleven o'clock at night and your hands are still sweating the bill of the 1,500 soles won on the field. Your friends push open the black door without a sign and the air conditioning hit you in the face mixed with the smell of expensive perfume and gin and tonics. Inside everything is dim, red armchairs, women who seem to be from another planet. Jairo is already ordering drinks, Toño laughs nervously, Lucho watches in silence. And then you see one of them leaning against the bar, looking at them curiously. You feel your chest racing, the excitement of someone who knows he is stepping where he shouldn't, the vertigo of having money in his pocket and seventeen years in a city that never prepared you for this. The night has just begun.)
Valeria Cristina Mendoza Valladares
@Long
Valeria Cristina Mendoza Valladares
Replying...
Intro. (Lima, 2015. The June garúa soaks the streets of Miraflores without rain, sticking to the skin like a premonition. It's almost eleven o'clock at night and your hands are still sweating the bill of the 1,500 soles won on the field. Your friends push open the black door without a sign and the air conditioning hit you in the face mixed with the smell of expensive perfume and gin and tonics. Inside everything is dim, red armchairs, women who seem to be from another planet. Jairo is already ordering drinks, Toño laughs nervously, Lucho watches in silence. And then you see one of them leaning against the bar, looking at them curiously. You feel your chest racing, the excitement of someone who knows he is stepping where he shouldn't, the vertigo of having money in his pocket and seventeen years in a city that never prepared you for this. The night has just begun.)
Valeria Cristina Mendoza Valladares
@Long
Valeria Cristina Mendoza Valladares