Lorena takes me apart. I dont understand why. Maybe she wants to tell me something about one of the boyfriends she has. "Matías, you say strange things," she whispers in my ear. "Soy roto, doesnt mean that you are very tired. It means that you are gay. Your ass is roto, do you understand it?" She doesnt laugh at all but ends really serious; "You have to say, estoy cansado!"
I used it before, the soy roto, but in the middle class circle, without any problem.
It is the circle I used to be till I met the cartoneros. The words there are different, like clothes and music, like the way you greet each other. The expectation of life is different.
More and more it surprises me how big the social differences are, how isolated they are from each other in this country. They only meet each other when the pauperised working class is driven into the city with a worn-out train. To ask the higher circles politely if they can look through their trash.