H lives on the third floor of a hotel. No day goes, do not eat breakfast and do not let you make the bed. It is a tourist. Not here. He came to wait for death, nothing more.
three years ago was diagnosed with two tumors. He has lung cancer and prostate cancer. Hate the doctor who prescribed bicycle for back pain, and will carry that anger to the ballot box, but can not remember who gave the first butt, to hate him too. Sale
night. At 3. Walk back one hour. Never choose the same path, but always reaches the same place. The house of his first girlfriend.
How he found the detective, has no idea. At this stage of the disease, and no one cares.
New Dehli is quiet at 3 am. Does not move a soul, all asleep. The Indians are hardworking people, it seems. Except for a couple of crazy and drunk as ever, all join forces to boot another hard day early. H
enjoys solitude. Gets used to death as well.
One day she comes. Does not recognize, of course. Since that trip to Argentina and spent a lifetime. But I'm afraid the tourist who wanders the house every day at the same time.
two months ago that she does not sleep. Almost from that H has a diagnosis: 2 months. Today. The day she goes to throw him out of the courtyard. H
leaves. Do not say anything. Why? Is nearly dead. Now it simply lie on the bed of the hotel and wait.
