The candle in his altar is always on fire and our curtains are always drawn. When the lamp is on, baña the entire living-room in rojo. Sometimes, the speakers blast hardwave, more often technobanda or cante jondo—although yesterday it was cantos greogrianos that woke me up from my siesta. I smoke at a table outside of a downtown bar ahora, trying to read Plato. I printed it out in the library. Last night, I walked out of my bedroom to get agua from the fridge and when I opened the curtains—which we hanged on Tuesday as an improvised door—pues cuando abrí las cortinas oscuras del comedor he was kneeling: his naked, arañada, tatuada espalda bañada en fuego, and there were verduras en el altar. There was corn, chile serrano, calabacín, manzana, two vasitos de barro with mezcal. Everything prendido in that corner of the otherwise unlit living-room. La vela, sus ojos cerrados, las verduras, su pecho brillante… Todo se mezclaba en el espejo del altar. I smelled mirra. I walked past him barefoot and silent and drank water, muy fría. He was murmuring something I could not understand. When I got back to bed—a stained mattress on the floor—I licked the water off my lips, closed my eyes, y mis caderas swayed muy lentas. La Santa Muerte. Whenever I walk past his altar me aguanto la respiración. During the day, I whisper entre más piensas, más te haces vieja; entre más piensas, más te haces vieja; entre más piensas, más te haces vieja… I still smell last night’s burning. Últimamente, when I cook, the food looks preciosa inside the olive-oiled pan—más brillante, más hermosa que nunca. En el mediodía, I spent an hour cutting verduras lentamente with the sharpest knife we have, mientras se me movía el cuerpo. La casa está llena de navajas. An old couple walks inside the pub. I raise my foot and stub out the cigarette on the sole of my sandal. I want to order another pint of stout but my card is not working. Torno a la casa pues. Però si està allà no podré llegir. When I read in the apartment, he sits in front of me and I read the same sentence una y otra y otra vez. Su cara. He always has ojeras below his eyes. His ojos I can’t describe però when he stares at me le beso. Cuando está cerca, my hands se agarran a su cuerpo y bailan por toda su piel as if they didn’t know him already. Mis uñas se clavan en su cuello, en sus costillas. Vente por favor, por favor. Todos los suspiros asfixiando el departamento. Solo somos colegas, que solo somos colegas. He’s your housemate. I feel a mosquito biting my leg. Los putos mosquitos aquí enanos que no los puedo ver. I slap my leg trying to kill him. When I raise my arm back up, I hit The Republic by accident and all the pieces of paper fall onto the pavement and start flying away con este puto viento. Fuck. I won’t read it pues. La luna está puto ardiendo. I stare at un puñado de pétalos rojos, sucios and broken, en la carretera. Y colillas de cigarros industriales. An hour ago, my sisters asked me que com estic and I couldn’t tell them. I can’t speak my mother tongue anymore. Me quema el cuerpo. They said I need to get the fuck out of the apartment, find something else. Por favor. Por favor. The pub door opens and I see el patrón with his silly smile. Want another one?