Print of Amsterdam $15
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On the way back to the station we meet Alejandro. He is the neighbour of Fidel and has 13 children. The fourteenth is coming. "Are condoms really that expensive," I ask. Fidel smiles, he also doesn’t understand it. Fidel walks home with him at night, after their work, from Suárez station to Villa Libertador. Although they look really tough, it seems that the night is not really safe, even for them.
Alejandro shows me a picture. A copy of a water-colour of the Westertoren in Amsterdam. I laugh; it’s funny to find a picture of your own neighbourhood in the trash of Urquiza. "I will give you the advance tomorrow," I tell him. "And, are you going to get drunk tomorrow," Fidel asks him.
During the next days I don’t see Alejandro anymore. Again and again I ask Fidel how he’s going, what he’s doing. "He doesn’t come anymore, he’s quite vague at this moment," is his answer. I understand that I shouldn’t ask anymore questions about his new profession.

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