“I look at myself in the mirror and don’t like what I see: wrinkled, tousled, what is left of my makeup drops like two half moons under my eyes. I probably threw up, I can’t remember, because my clothes are dirty…I get in the shower, but there’s no water. I turn the tap on and off but nothing happens. I clean myself up as well as I can and leave the house. I’m already late…”
Cristo che mal di testa/Christ, what a headache by Tania Puglia
parallel texts: words reflected 