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Durante una fiesta en un departamento, en la cocina, una amiga mía se besa apasionadamente con un chico que acaba de conocer. Parece que, en el fragor del romance, apoyadas sus nalgas contra las perillas de la cocina, accidentalmente abre el gas, porque en un par de minutos llegan varias personas alarmadas diciendo que huele a gas.

Yo no tengo nada contra el amor libre, ni en contra de la gente que decide morir por amor, pero por lo menos que sea un amor que me involucre a mí, y no a las nalgas de mi amiga.

Ciudad de México, 2008

During a party in an apartment, in the kitchen, a friend of mine is kissing passionately with a boy she has just met. It seems that, in the heat of romance, with her buttocks against the knobs of that turn on the stove, she accidentally lets the gas run, because in a couple of minutes several people arrive alarmed, saying that it smells of gas.

I don’t have anything against free love, or against people who decide to die for love, but at least it has to be a love that involves me, and not my friend’s buttocks.

Mexico City, 2008