Status Updates From La noche era terciopelo

She wondered what would happen if she started walking there, if she did not head immediately home. She wondered what kind of story started like this. She saw a figure in the distance, hazy, and he waved at her. Maite held her breath.

When she smiled she looked almost pretty, like someone had struck a match and lit a veladora and the light was streaming out, but the glass colored it. Made it yellow or red or blue, like you could see the colors of her soul.

There was no need to imagine her surroundings, but the voice nagged at him. Would she have a nice voice? Or would it be squeaky, high-pitched? Or lower? Would the voice match the face, or would it be one of those wild tricks of nature where the voice is a sultry delight and the person is as plain as rice?

Hippies were all a bunch of losers and marijuanos who gave women venereal diseases and organized orgies; that’s what the people at her office said. Though, to be fair, Maite was curious about the orgies.