Wall Clock $35
i oo
My bag is full with old stuff. "Where does that nostalgia come from," I ask myself. Is it that everything was better before or is it the memory of the immigrant?
Gaston, a small boy with scabs on his chin, offers me a small cola bottle. "I have even four more," he says and his mother pulls him away from me. She doesn’t look like a cartonero, more like a humble lady. She smokes nervously. Gaston and his friends, strangely all with scabs on their chin, tell her who I am. In the meanwhile she looks frightened to me. One of the boys shows me a clock. "Hey, Matías, can you use this?" he yells. "Yes!" I scream and their train arrives. He puts the clock in my hands and jumps into the leaving train. It’s not the Tren Blanco. That is forbidden area for children, too dangerous. When the train is coming, it’s emptier than usual. I look for Jorge but he isn’t here either. Lorena and Gustavo hang out of the window and shout at me. "It’s nicely quiet today, isn’t it?"

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