Nahuel Ignacio Alberti

The factory's steaming chimneys flood the reddish sky of the old port district. Under the beach there is an incognito man, lost from tired days, sunk in the infected estuary. The black sand breathes strangely and from its belly now grows an unfinished being, thrown into the matter of mud, which with its hands detaches from the shore, opening its immeasurably white eyes wide.