Colonia Roma

It's another too hot morning. Both my door and window are open, but there is no breeze to cool off the room, or myself. So I go out for a walk, since the trees provide some shade and comfort to pedestrians.

I love walking around this old neighborhood, discovering a new building every day. It's becoming more and more gentrified, but it retains its families, small businesses, and all its charm. No wonder young people move in: it's close to all the cool places, indeed, it has quite a lot of them; it's quiet and residential, but peppered with shops and restaurants; it has trees and birds. In short, it makes you feel like you're not inside one of the biggest cities on Earth.

As I walk, I try to wrap my mind around the work I have to do, making sense of concepts, building sentences that will support an argument that's not clear yet. But it's too hot to think. I'm tempted by the orange juice vendor, and by the ice cream shop across the street. I'm envious of little children playing around in the fountain, not a care in the world.

Making my way back home, finally surrendering to my responsibilities, I remember some bits and pieces about the history of this place. That house was built in the early 20th century, it belonged to some important family related to Díaz. That other one used to be a school. W.S. Burroughs lived here for a while. There's a place called Casa Poe which makes me wonder whether Edgar Allan did so too (he never lived here, as you might imagine; Casa Poe used to be a cultural and literary center, closed three years ago). And of course, I end up quoting to myself bits and pieces from Las batallas en el desierto:

Voy a guardar intacto el recuerdo de este instante porque todo lo que existe ahora mismo nunca volverá a ser igual.

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