Segunda noche

We stayed in a hostel where things were clean. We cooked a meal of salmon with lemon and butter, sald with shitakes, and brown rice cooked slow. The lighting was gentle, and we shared a bottle of wine while reminiscing about her mother's soups that we both loved when i lived with her family in mexico. We spoke of the markets and the crazy italian who visited the house for a while, smoking mota in the bathroom and cigarettes in the kitchen while her mother shook her head in disgust and my friend tried to make her stop. Everything seemed less desperate on day two. She found an apartment and we navigated, together, the world of social and public services- everyone should have their own personal advocate, for this was the role I played. She said many times, I can't go back to him, and it is true she can't, not without damage to her body, soul, and psyche. I hope that things improve for her. Suerte, mi amiga.