every death is a suicide
A frustrated and alcoholic writer has an idea. I wake up in Buenos Aires, lost and alone. In my pocket I find a photograph of a woman. It brings me memories of her and a house. The back side of the photograph has an address. I begin to walk. I travel across the city looking for this woman. A whole day goes by. I'm tired, it's late. I get to the house. Everything starts again.
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