One Hundred Years of Solitude

his initials embroidered over
the heart. Twice a week he
would wash the complete
change in the tub and would
wear his robe until it dried
because he had nothing else
to put on. He never ate at
home. He would go out when
the heat of siesta time had
eased and would not return
until well into the night. Then
he would continue his
anxious pacing, breathing like
a cat and thinking about