Memories of Sanlorenzo
Artemis drove his blue Fandango through the streets of Sanlorenzo. A river appeared briefly, a river in the sky, and he forgot what he was about to say to the beautiful young woman seated beside him. This is a moment that will stay with me always, he said to himself, my moment of forgetfulness on the streets of Sanlorenzo at the wheel of my blue Fandango, sitting next to a beautiful young woman whose name I also cannot remember. Could it be Tracey? Señorita Tracey Barrett of the National Guard? The tightness of her curves astounds; her eyes are a treacly green -- I have never seen their like before. Twice I marched to the Athens of the North and even in those journeys I never... And so it goes on, the unceasing dialogue within. Meanwhile the river fades into clouds, a dove coos and the little town grows into a city. Such cities, mighty cities born in small moments of forgetting, are known to the localés as “quebas”. Even though we are completely surrounded, enveloped in traffic fumes and stinking garbage, a queba is no cause for concern. A few hours, a day or two at most and phfft! -- it is gone. Maybe the odd street cry hangs around a little longer but these are easily dealt with.
