Do you happen to remember Carlos' birthday party 4 years ago? It was a Saturday. As usual, he expected quite your coming since, I quote him, you made his parties better with your chitchatting and your social drinking. Oddly enough, for a reason I might have to mention later, you began drinking, all by yourself, at 4 in the afternoon. You bought yourself a couple of hamburgers, more than a couple of beers, and went kind of stupid to the beat of The Rapture. Oh, one a many days you barked when you listened to them, you gave no shit about the status quo. Whenever shit went on, you bought some bubblegum and had it while you sang them. That day, though, it didn't matter how hard and loud you sang and danced House of Jealous Lovers, for you felt like the tiniest of the pebbles that had ever gotten stuck in the sole of your Puma sneakers. Perhaps now you can tell, kid, what it was. I remember, I do remember, how often you would tell yourself it was lust and that all. You'd seen the tip of the iceberg, and that was more than enough to have you daydream. "Dreamers, they never learn", that is how it goes, isn't it? You couldn't even get up, get it up, and do squat about so. You took this cab ride, asked the driver how hot he thought it was, how one could tell when one is in love. He said, not without a thought and a scratch of the head, Because perhaps you cannot stop thinking. Silly you. Look at you. I can see you typing there, ignoring what I tell you, attempting to relieve yourself with mezcal. But, really, what are the odds? Are you that mindless drone? Either way, now, now it is that you find yourself by yourself, with mezcal in your veins, with the same fucking feeling, not knowing if lust, if love, and wanting to explode in her. The next hour is definite, so is the weekend, so is the next mezcal. You are back four years ago, savvy?