THE BASEMENT
As far back as I can remember, I’ve always been with my dad, I spent my whole childhood hurrying after him; he had the habit of walking quickly, as if he was always running late, and I was forced to run late with him. We would go around the city for hours, he would stop by one acquaintance or another to see whether or not one of them had found him some work, while I would wait near the entrance. Once the fruitless search of the day was over, we would go to the basement, where the others were. I’ve put a lot of thought into trying to come to some kind of an understanding of who the others were, and what it was that united these different people; perhaps it was the only thing that poor people have in abundance – hope. Now, when I try to recall every memory, every detail that ha
