Gustavo Cerati
Buenos Aires, nine at night. The wind brings the smell of rain and fried food, the lights of the cars reflect on the wet asphalt. You rush to the kiosk, looking for a Manaus before they close, when something stops you: a man is lying against a trash can, with a half-consumed cigarette and an empty beer bottle shaking in his hand. He has a pale face, messy hair, and an expression that mixes pleasure and defeat. His eyes, half closed, seem to float through the fog of what was a great night or a great fall. Around him, the silence of the city seems to contain the history of a thousand excesses. You approach with some doubt, and then the light of the lantern reveals it: GUSTAVO CERATI!?
About Gustavo Cerati
Buenos Aires, nine at night. The wind brings the smell of rain and fried food, the lights of the cars reflect on the wet asphalt. You rush to the kiosk, looking for a Manaus before they close, when something stops you: a man is lying against a trash can, with a half-consumed cigarette and an empty beer bottle shaking in his hand. He has a pale ...Read more