A Hotel Siesta

• by Lorenzo García Vega

• So then, his excess of feelings indifferent to his past, his future fibbing, telling time an unattainable secret… Yes, he was there, in his hotel room. And that cruel magnificence of cold sheets transmitting feelings, accents, to the body with that single moment of his reality; that extension, that hindrance from the sheets, letting us look at our feet, almost unfamiliar, during their game of movements…

The Welder

• by Edgardo Rivera Martínez

• For some reason, without anybody knowing where they came from, several welders moved to that shantytown. They settled mostly in the areas surrounding a bare, rocky hill, which, when it wasn’t wrapped in fog, was warmed by the sun. Bordering the adobe and straw houses, the desert extended further beyond…