Qué hermosura las noches clandestinas de Buenos Aires: sentirme protegida por el collar que me regaló Pola y la muñequera que me regaló Dani, cruzar la Plaza Congreso tan sugestiva y cinemática bajo su manto de humo tóxico del incendio del Tigre en el auto de un amigo con el que soñé anoche, bailar ACDC y Kiss y conocer a cierto chanteur apasionado, melancólico y especial que admiré en la pantalla chica hace más de un año. Se llama benjamin biolay y toca en Niceto este viernes. Qu'est-ce ça peu faire/savoir qu'on s'est fait la guerre/tu vas me manquer...

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Feeling protected by Pola's necklace and Dani's bracelet, piling into a friend's car with the posse, cruising down Plaza Congreso artfully veiled in a cinematic haze of smoke from the endless Delta bushfires, dancing to ACDC and Kiss and the cherry on top: realizing that bewitching wild-haired creature over by the window is in fact the musician from Paris I got hooked on through my television sometime last year.

Go talk to him hisses my friend the dandy propelling me through the mob of fans. Hernan I feel stupid you do it I hiss back. He likes girls, do it now I'm right behind you says Hernan ruthlessly, by now I'm face to face with the object of our twin desire so I babble at him incoherently and he actually replies and just when by some miracle it appears we are having a conversation Hernan snakes around me and pounces.

I barely have time to feel used by my dandy friend's superior willpower when our soulful idol turns back to me and says, "I like your fake fur" just before he disappears beneath the next wave of admirers. I float back to the dance floor, humming Qu'est-ce que ça peut faire/De savoir qu'on c'est fait la guerre... His name is benjamin biolay, he makes genius music and he plays Niceto tomorrow night.