The Recoleta Bookstore

April evenings in Buenos Aires have a warm glow about them that softens the light and leaves the sky in placid shades of violet and mauve. This slows the pace of life in the city, permitting the senses to take in just a bit more of what the world has to offer. It’s a small gift from the cosmos, but one that invariably inspires gratitude in the beholder. On one such evening some years ago I found myself strolling the streets of Recoleta. It may have been happenstance, but I attribute the way my attention was captivated by the unremarkable bookstore to the manner in which my senses were heightened by those colors of the evening sky. Read more…

The Machine

I fretted over the tiniest details. I had no choice. The complexity of the machine allowed for no interim testing to enable me to gradually build confidence in the eventual success of my endeavor. Instead, like a gambler staking everything on a single throw of the dice, I pursued only a single, final, objective: a machine which operated correctly when completed and engaged. To that end, I labored over every stage of the design and assembly, knowing that even the slightest mistake anywhere in the sequence would mean utter failure, for the complexity of the machine also allowed for no second chances. Either it operated successfully when used the first time, or it would be rendered an unrecoverable heap of ash. Read more…