Having just suffered our second robbery in the space of a fortnight (ironically, in the idyllic and empty island paradise that we´d come from to escape the mentalness of Carnaval in Salvador), the girl who does the pictures is now without a camera, and the girl who does the words has a severe case of writer´s block. Please bear with us in this temporary interruption in transmission.
Devoid of my own words, I keep remembering some graffiti I saw in a hostel in Guatemala City some years ago. It was one of those neighbourhoods, renowned for its crime rate, where you had to be locked into your hostel. J and I were staying in the room that Che Guevara had once stayed in, and a huge mural of him dominated one wall. The others were covered in graffiti.
On the back of the door near the floor, in painfully etched letters, some poor desperate and dejected soul, who I can imagine sitting on the floor weeping in the aftermath of being relieved of his worldly possessions, had written
´I don´t have anything left to give or to steal, so please, just leave me the fuck alone`
Underneath, someone else had added ´Can I borrow your crayon?´
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