When we’d been living together for a year she left me for a German, by the name of Kurt something or other. She told me she was in love and then she cried, because she felt sorry for me or just because she was happy, I don’t know. Come on, that’s enough, mala mujer, I said to her. She started laughing like she always did when I spoke my language. I started laughing too. We shared a bottle of vodka and said good-bye.
Roberto Bolaño, “Snow,” The Return
Nothing happened today. And if anything did, I’d rather not talk about it, because I didn’t understand it.
Roberto Bolaño, The Savage Detectives