The house is too quiet. Silence drapes around your couch, the TV, the credenza with a Virgin Mary statue. Me llamo Inez Cuevas, you say out loud. Vivo en Corpus Christi. You write it on the blank page of your notebook, and underneath it: No tengo ami

So, as the lines on my face grow more pronounced, the lines on my finger prints are fading away? All I can say is that it's a damn shame it's not the other way around.