From the port of Santa Maria de los Buenos Aires, the city like a desert where no one can expect mercy or help from anyone. Black and sound ships. Orchestral trains. Abandoned children. Illuminated signs of methylene blue. Theater lobbies. Extensive avenues. Narrow straight streets Late studies. Aerial collisions. Chimneys without smoke. Identical letters. Sneaky encounters. Prefabricated marshes Leganese beds. Forbidden islands. Almost a million books. Stone angels Allegorical stones. Porteño songwriters in body and soul. Tricks. Holds. Scams Black and white images of a dead Buenos Aires.—Sebastian Incaurgarat