whereabouts since I saw the crazy Tiny was walking down the street with his hands in his pockets, a small figure of the sun hidden in the shadow of commercial buildings. Should be around noon when I took the microphone, should also be the last time I saw him. The bus started moving and I could see his face well, although I suspect that trying to smile.
The Tiny Loco was becoming smaller through the dusty glass of transantiago until a few seconds later finally lost sight of him.
's three in the morning and as I try to write even asked me where the memory resides. "Do not forget" once told me, and yet the brightness of his black jacket to the sun is more real in my imagination now than, say, the color of your shoes (if they were not shoes). It
night ... and these drills in the past I am writing to not forget.
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