© 2013 Ediciones Traspiés
For Elena Gené
After wandering around the city in search of work, I returned home to find that doorway number four—my own—had disappeared.
I attempted to separate apartments two and six with my fingers, to see if it was hiding there in between, but the walls mocked me with their stubborn immobility. I decided to walk up the street from the other side to catch it unawares. I circled the block and emerged from the opposite corner, running and screaming, trying to take it by surprise, but the only thing I got was a bucketful of water dumped from above by some former neighbor.
Now, five years later, I still live on the streets, lying in wait. Always close to apartment number four. I know that it’s there and that one day it will reappear. While it’s making up its mind, I caress the key. I hope that, at the very least, they’ve had the courtesy not to change the lock.