She says she's okay. You say you’re okay and think she must really be okay and that you really are okay. Her expression is gorgeous, as if she were seeing for the first times the scenes she'd wished for her whole life. Then comes the rotten breath, eyes hollow even though she claims (while you keep quiet, as in a silent film) that hell can't be the world she lives in. Cut it out with this bullshit text! She screams. The kaleidoscope assumes the look of solitude. Crack, goes your heart.
Roberto Bolaño
Translation from Laura Healy