Special translation by Juliet Kinder
Phil ran to the shower intuiting that he was going to be late. Although he was without a watch or battery in his phone, he knew the hour by the sun ray that travessed the window. It had overtaken the nine o´clock cactus. He remembered this very well from the day before because he had discovered the owner´s cat impassively observing him shower. He was in such a rush he left his clothing strewn over the radiator, his towel draped across the cabinet, and the door slightly ajar. This was not especially courteous for a recently arrived AirBnB visitor and, he realized, if it struck Simon to visit his dominion again, he would push and open the door still more. But by the time Phil thought of this, he was already drenched. Under the revitilizing waterfall and from within the vapor and foam arose a piano melody and later the voice of Rachel from the living room with its luminous cadence, its sweet melancholy. While he dressed, the sound multiplied as the water´s pounding had stopped, he thought about the magical moments that life gifted. As bad as things were, as much as life hurtled unstoppable from a bridge into the Hudson, even though shadows seemed to grow as time went on, in this, right now, the warm sun at the window, the inspirational voice, the powerful piano, the Brooklyn apartment, and even the red feline, there was a small refuge, a wink of hope, that despite everything, in the future beauty could still exist.