12.21.2012 - 12.21.2012
In the bathroom are eight brick-shaped openings that lead directly outside. At night the dry Santa Marta wind blows through them, sounding like a famished ghost. When I'm in there I think again of Innocent Erendira and the wind of her misfortune. It makes sense that such a wind would be hungry. I leave the room quickly but thoughtfully, shutting the door behind me.