My head is swollen. I walk through the square and it’s already daylight, there are gentlemen walking their dogs and I see a family getting out of their car with bags that seem to have groceries for a Sunday lunch. The voices of the children stun me, as well as the buses that pass by. I see mine arrive at the stop that is very close but I don’t have the energy to run it, I also need to smoke a cigarette before starting the journey that will be arriving at my house with my senses still altered by everything I consumed during the night .

The faces of my friends and lovers keep appearing in the reflection of the bus window, intermingling with the gray city that speeds past me. They appear like ghosts and I try to evoke the euphoria I felt hours ago when I saw them without success. There is no loneliness like the one after the end of the party, which makes its full presence when entering the apartment in silence and turning on the switch in a room that had been turned off after several days of absence. The mess welcomes me, the abandoned kitchen, the garbage bag that I forgot before I left and that is now full of mosquitoes.

It’s early and the day has just begun, even though my body feels otherwise. Sleeping in this state is a utopia, I know it’s not worth trying, I resign myself to chasing exhaustion by doing things that probably seem wrong to me the next day. Life is what happens when I enter a place at night and come out with a bloody beam of light pointed at my face. Disenchantment is a friend of the eyes of the sun.

Curated by Santiago Gasquet.