19:05, Chilean summer time. My words haven’t grazed my blog since January, when I texted my ex. A subsequent book, Surviving hygge, made it out from the guts of my online literary output. Sales have been disappointing, to say the least. Being completely silent in the meantime, avoiding spoiling the plot of my novel, now seems irrelevant. Yet, I’ll hold any revelations or narration of unfolding events to the printed paragraphs still available to purchase on Amazon.
I’m visiting Santiago, once more. Been here for a couple of weeks now, with four left to go. New Year’s Eve is beginning, this Sunday, December 31st. 2023 is coming to a close and I can feel it, in the empty streets and the joyful mood of the few passersby. I am naked on the sofa, introspective. Melancholic. Reflective. Locked in my expensive Airbnb rental in the fancier area of town.
I can’t say much, but my silence probably gives away all you need to know. Still, stop being a cunt and buy my damn book! It’s good, I promise! Do it for the stories, prolonging the myth of me. Or to finance this motherfucking expensive trip. I don’t mind your agenda nor your intentions. Buy. The. Fucking. Book.
Now I’ll finish my cheap Becker lager. 473 cc., 4.5% alcohol content. Will play Heroes of the Storm until the night falls. Will listen to people having a blast in the vicinity. Will mix Demi Sec sparkling wine with pineapple sorbet (a Chilean NYE classic.) Will go to bed shortly after midnight and wake up to a new year beginning on a Monday. Looking forward to shit working out this time around.

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