musical postcard

I wish I could send you a musical postcard of tonight. Then, would you remember, like me, that rainy night in Guatemala City – us going to a cinema in the fancy part of town, in the embassy district, while the whores  were making centavos near the parque central, the boy soldiers were patrolling the silent streets, guarding the curfew; and the disappeared – who knows where they ended up. Is the music really so sad, or only coloured by my melancholy; those mournful tangoes stirring nostalgia.

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