In bed, he dreamt of Caty, of her sweet and solid body nourished on all theNewyorkian essences, her aromatic Boricuan body of markedly horizontal tendencies.[…]In the livingroom decorated with posters of erotic content—BabylonianNewyorkian obsession—the guests move from one spot to another: pale youths with huge afros, girls in slacks, an occasional skirt.[…]Oh, abien chévere couple, he will be ashamed of his father I will raise him by myself Newyorican son, hum, his grain of sand in theNewyorkian population hum, feeling the nostalgic notes of a guitar the rasping of agüiro on the floor below, Boricuan Christmas in the urban setting oh unbearable nostalgia, loneliness profoundly exhausted not only from the effects of the hard work under the Manolo-ian vigilance, an exhaustion from deep within.