I went to see Diego on Wednesday.
Not at the office. He had texted that morning to say he was working from home, processing the wedding photographs, which was the post-event work that required the quiet and the time that the office did not provide. He had given me his address once, early on, for a delivery redirect, and I had kept it the way I kept things I might need.
I texted first. *Can I come by? An hour.*
He replied: *Yes. I will make tea.*
His apartment was in a quiet building twenty minutes from Estrella Co. by tricycle. The kind of building that had been there for a long time and had accumulated the specific quality of places that were used properly: lived in, maintained, not performing anything.
He answered the door in the focused distracted way of someone who had been deep i
