Last night I had a terrible dream. I was heading down into the Buenos Aires underground. The B line. It was one of those stations where the platform is in the middle, between the lines heading in both directions, probably Carlos Pellegrini or Florida. The wall tiles were brown, which would have fit much better with an A Line station. 

I was going down an escalator where I know there isn’t one. And when I got to the platform I was punched in the face and robbed. The next scene is exactly the same but I’m carrying the baby.

It scared me to think I was going back to Buenos Aires. How safe it is here, and how dangerous it is there. 

Later, at the YMCA in the centre, where I barely ever go, I got disoriented coming out of the changing room.

I saw a man in a burgundy jacket, like the one the staff wears. When he saw me, he clenched his fist, ready to take a swing at me. Thinking that he was an employee, I thought it was a joke, that he knew me. But when I got a better look at him and realized that he didn’t work there, I knew he meant it. I was entirely unprepared and yet thought myself well capable of hitting him back. I looked at him defiantly. He stopped himself and said ‘I feel punchy today.’ Then he went on his way. 

Copyright David Mibashan. Translated by Kit Maude.