I out-run buses, I out-scuttle roaches, I am a spirit on legs, my brain now at a virtual standstill. LUI LABAS SHUTTLES BODY FROM VILLA CRESPO TO SAN TELMO BACK TO RECOLETA. All is meet-you-speaky-go, quick glances and dirty pesos. I feed on media lunas noon and night – mornings now nonexistent. I do face-prints and name-swaps. I am like cat rubbing tail with other cats. And I speak like local-man, no Serbo-Croatian, no finicky French, no hammer-blow Dutch, just bare bones meet me in door, I wait you, yes. And as I wait I never stand idle, I smoke cigarettes and make face-prints with my brain.
Accelerations down Sante Fe; about-turns on Pueyrredon. This body loves Buenos Aires – the racetrack Buenos Aires – even if my heart still beats in Zagreb, and my mind still strolls down Hundertwasser Promenade. But tonight Lui sleeps. This body sleeps, do you hear. I re-inhabit Lui. I curl up paws and tail and enter private domain where I am mayor, magistrate and high priest; where I rule over cabs and passengers, friends and foes, to’s-and-fro’s. Sleep will come, Lui Labas. Believe me. Even orchestrations of dog and coughings of old man early morning will not wake you. Your realm is impenetrable – mayor, magistrate, and high priest – and, as my friend wrote to me the other day, you will sleep like big mountain on edge of stars until soon be new man...
