Did he wonder if he’d be seen, self-tucked in a window sill, high above the Carrera reading words of a finished book? Did he find himself as amused with what was, as with what was happening, once his hair moved counterclockwise to look below? Perhaps he was amused upon finding something different below, something other than jewelry makers and fruit cup sellers.. This time the movement of his hoola hoop curls found me, an extranjero looking for the sake of seeing.
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