Following Cortázar, or, more properly, not following Cortázar, for who needs to follow Cortázar--a state of mind, perhaps, more than a place--wandering through the dusty arcades--el Pasaje Güemes, o La Galerie Vivienne--as if the details of a French metropolis could be somehow transposed onto the waiting breast of Buenos Aires...
Rather a morning, with three crows...
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