I was on a late ride near the General Belgrano Bridge, the one that links Corrientes with Resistencia over the Paraná.
The windows were open and the radio had low chamamé, just enough to hear the squeeze-box and the wind.
Right around the midpoint the interior lights flickered and in the window I saw my face older, with wet hair, like I’d just come out of the river.
A minute later my phone saved a blank voice memo while we rolled back along the river road into the city.
I got off by the Costanera and noticed thin muddy streaks on my sneakers I didn’t step into anywhere that night.
Next day the memo title showed my name with a little accordion icon, which only made me think of chamamé again for no real reason...
id: gimenezl