I assumed I wouldn't go to see Paul this time. I always went, even to Montevideo in 2014 when he didn't come here. When the tickets went on sale I didn't have a penny so I said to myself: I've seen him several times. It won't have to be.
But life taught me to expect the unexpected. Some money appeared (Thanks, old man, from beyond) and a friend, Barbie, appeared and asked me: "Are you going to see Paul? I have tickets." The miracle had happened.
And again I was at River's stadium, like so many times, waiting for the indescribable. Because there is no video, no photos or audio that can decode it. What happens intimately I feel incapable of translating into the precariousness of spoken language when I try to convey my feelings. That was what struck me in body and soul, that night in 1964 when I was 8 years old, when I watched the Ed Sullivan Show on Channel 13 at the old black and white Zenith (Thanks, old man, again). And nothing was the same.
On the night of October 5th, I was 8 years old again.
Although reality “keeps hitting us down,” ART saves me. Thanks, PAUL,for coming to the rescue.
I made the drawing as soon as “the cherry album” (that’s what we called it) appeared, I must have been around 14 years old.
Good
Morning Sweetest of Friend....I hope this week was good to you and the
weekend will be, even better.Enjoy it to the fullest! Stay Safe, Stay
Well, Stay Beautiful and Humble mi querido amigo/amiga.Como siempre te
mando esta nota con mucho amor y respeto, tu amiga que nunca se olvida
de ti Janet.
xoxo 
