(wrote on August 4)
I'm in Quito's Mariscal Sucre airport, sitting in the waiting room of the international departure, missing half an hour to come out my flight, my first flight out of this country, people from all sides hope like me, apparently they are accustomed, this is simply a routine, know what to do and what not, I actually wonder what the lady in a stan international phone cards me atiende amablemente todas mis interrogantes, aunque creo que ya se está cansando. No hay duda, esto es aburrido, las vocecillas que llaman a los pasajeros no me deja escuchar la música instrumental andina que suena en un local de artesanías que está frente a mí. La señora Mariela Martínez nada que se presenta a la sala de embarque, me pregunto que estará haciendo, es la séptima ocasión que la llaman, catorceava si contamos el inglés. Poco a poco esta sala se va vaciando y llenando al mismo tiempo, la rubia ojos verdes, francesea presumo yo, que no dejaba de mirar ya se marchó con destino a Bogotá, seguida de su grupo de amigos, era realmente hermosa, lamento que no me haya parado bola, quien quita and see it again somewhere, we recognize and begin a beautiful and wild relationship, yes I know, imagine waiting makes crap, but it must be distracted, so I better write while I wait, total, to write is that I will file , not more tired, see you soon, I have a festival to cover and many films to see. And I was excited, my plane has just arrived.
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