I’ve been always nostalgic about driving in tropical rain; it reminds me of Guadalajara. I loved the sound it made on the car’s roof and how humidity evaporated making my skin wet. We used to drive across the old parts of town listening to Portishead drinking 1-liter beers. I just have one driving memory in New York. Sarah had just bought her old red sedan and we drove one night from Washington Heights to Greenpoint in Brooklyn. As we drove on the FDR we could see all the apartment buildings with their lights on. I multiplied each window by what it represented in terms of stories: love, success, loneliness and defeat. I had just divorced from Javier, and as each window had its own story I wished one new for my own. Now I have it.

Genoveva’s wedding is tomorrow in Central Park. I’m excited about it.