Manuel Rivas

Sample

Gaby, Gabriela, is older than me. I think she’s a lot older. Two years, at least. After such a long time, I wasn’t expecting to find her in the village, in Aita, but there she was, sitting languidly on the Brandarices’ stone bench, in between two geranium pots.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’

‘How are things?’

‘Good. And you?’

‘Good. Excellent. Actually, terrible.’

In reality, she was a lot older than me. Three years, perhaps.

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