Blanca Riestra

Sample

   At that precise moment, in that place in a corner, unknown forces coincided. Adolescent X is sitting at the beginning of it all. Of course she doesn’t know it’s the beginning of anything, she’s actually convinced she’s been caught up in it for some time. And she’s tired of it.

   “Tired,” she says, letting the words come out of her mouth like marbles. She spits out marbles that fall in front of her, at her feet. Yesterday, in one of the vintage shops near San Andrés fountain, she’d bought a dress with acrylic flowers that she thinks is so punk. She has it on her bed, spread out, next to some low, pointy-toed boots, and studies it with something akin to desire.

   But today a kind of sadness makes her understand it’s not worth bothering about anything.

   What is it she’s trying to do? Well, she’s trying to enjoy herself. Later on, she’ll be forced to look for other things, ones she hasn’t thought of yet, unavoidable, even dreadful things: earning money, paying the rent, being happy. Not now, now she doesn’t want to do anything but have a good time.

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