retro

Staphanies keeps talking about Santa Ververa. She goes on and on about what went on when she was there. Beheaded Gloria by the seashore and how being bored would be too aristocratic for the town.

All that's in my mind are just memories of Santa Cruz. The pictures we took there, the dance around the fire. Heart of Darkness. Where the hell is Santa Ververa? No clue. France, probably. But to me right now it could be on Mars for all I know.

To the extent that I care about Santa Ververa, actually, to the extent I care to waste my Monday afternoon here with Staphanies, it's all because she is my book to K. Not the K in Kafka's Castle, not K in Pamuk's Snow. My K.

Maybe, just maybe, somewhere buried in her indulgent monolgogue about Santa Ververa, there are leads that would take me to K. I am just saying maybe, I know it's a long shot, but that's the best I've got.

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