Seven years in Newfoundland. Needs a new sketchbook.
Fell asleep thinking of big topics: Taliban vs. Isis, refuge crisis, urban villages of China, Gypsy ghettos in Europe… Woke up today feeling depressed and angry. I go downstairs to the kitchen and make coffee. While sipping it on the couch I see this couple fighting. They look late 40′s but they’re actually 35. “Pass me the matches” “You have them” “No, YOU have them. I gave them to you last night. You were drunk!” “I only had a shot of rakia”. “Four shots!”. Everything seems to be fine after one pack and ten cups of Turkish coffee. I put some music on and think to leave the big topics for the “real artists”.
The Japanese guy grabs a beer from the fridge and says in bad Spanish: “frío, poco”. After the third one he starts to get sloppy. Drinks them like water. At the bar he insists with speaking Spanish. I can still hear his gibberish from away while talking to others. Back in the hostel his face is deformed by alcohol. He’s sweating and cursing a girl that’s not there. “Muddafuckerr”. He reminds me of the yakuzas on the movies that die on the first scene from a shot in the leg. I’m going to bed. Not even drunk I have patience for this. In the room there are twelve beds. I get out of the bathroom and the fat guy is there waiting in silence. He follows me into the room. I sit in the bed and he gets close and says: “what did you say about me to the French girl? “. “I said nothing, time for bed”. He asks again. I point to his bed. He keeps asking until getting ungry: “tomorrow… I’ll kill you…” While moving his leg like crushing someone’s head to the ground. He takes his t-hirt off and sits on the bed. A tattoo of an angry face covers his whole back. He repeats “Tomorrow, I’ll kill you”. I grab my knife and go to bed. I fall asleep with my eyes open. July 30th. Welcome to Bulgaria.
They ask for Florins or Euros, the rest of what the say I don’t understand. Some of them stick besides me but most leave fast. Sings, gestures or growling. Not the friendliest crowd. I haven’t talked to another human for a week, so this is close enough. Suddenly I remember I been warned about this neighborhood. It is too late now. The lines on the sketchbook are flowing and I like what I have so far. I guess it’s my fault, for drawing on a block where the corner store sells the cheapest booze around. July 5th. #thefloatingworld #vinobarato
Días fríos en Toronto, terminando todo lo que había quedado distante. De oeste a este, dibujo gente, otra vez en la calle.
Después de vagar en Buenos Aires, un poco de soledad en la ciudad no viene mal. Ajustando tuercas, volviendo a enfocar.
Esta es una tarjeta trasnochada para el cumpleaños de Nyree. Qué trabajo me cuesta dibujar sonrisas y alegría descomunal.
Apollo me prestó su habitación en la que dormí lo que me quedaba pendiente de Baires. Daba igual el tren de mercancías que sacudía la casa cada vez que pasaba. A la cama temprano para estar listo para trabajar por la mañana.
Más dibujos pronto. Subo al avión que me lleva a la montaña.