Then Agustin told me he'd already been across the park (from 4th to 3rd) to see the show at Nina's gallery. "It's mostly exercizes," he said, "but some of them rather interesting. You should go."
So I go. Or, rather, went, last night. Sometime around nine-thirty, just as they were getting ready to cut their cake and drink wine and soda. I go, thinking I will only stay a few minutes, but no. I start talking and talking and talking and around eleven end up going off with most of them to a cantina on Plaza Santa Cecilia, where we spend all the hours after midnight nearly until dawn, drinking and dancing. I only take a few beers, but talk and talk and talk. In between write the draft of a strange, staggered poem. You'll find it posted yesterday, as if it happened right then, which, indeed, it did.
Won't get home until almost sunrise this morning. Today, after writing this, I go to San Diego for a few days. On the phone, yesterday, Maria said she will miss me, and "I hate, you Miguelito, for leaving me...."
Ah, how sweet it is... love. That's what's starting to happen. Yes. I miss her already. Wish I had known about the exhibition. Would have loved to have her with us last night, yes... well, another time. Yes. Soon.
Our birthdays are coming up. Mine on the eighth, hers on the fifteenth. I'll take her to the cantina for tequilas. She loves tequila. So do I.