A literary pilgrimage to Cortázar’s tomb. By Margaret Wilmot.
«I have already had a long walk through the foggy February morning—I never arrive early to meet you, who sleep so badly and rise to Argentine time, and, in any case, do not like walking—before (touching my earrings) I locate 18, rue de l’Hôtel de Ville. Cité Internationale des Arts. Near Saint Gervais and Saint Protais of the beautiful singing...»
Keys: death, Cortázar, time, glass