(I don't really feel like writing anything so I'm just going to copy an E-mail I sent to a guy named Phil Ramirez about a week after I arrived in this city. On top of looking like a white-supremacist gutter punk version of Alex Von Ferstenberg, he's also a good friend who helped me get down here. I want to keep this E-mail for posterity because I enjoy how happy and excited I sound about having finally returned to Buenos Aires. So, as you can see, the reason I'm posting it has absolutely nothing to do with Phil)
(Oh, and FYI: The "Chris Early" referred to in the middle of the letter is a giant maniac who looks like Sloth from "The Goonies." And the "Butterfly" referred to at the bottom of the letter is a coke-addict stripper I'm pretty sure I made cry)
Sergio gave me this e-mail so hopefully, unlike your evilelf account, it works.
So after a narco-induced near coma I landed in Buenos Aires and somehow managed to check into the loft. The first couple days were rough, since for the last three years I've been living in converted patios and storerooms. The place is so big I even thought about sleeping in the back walk-in closet just so I could feel more at home. It was like some weird Shawshank Redemption experience where I couldn't adjust to life outside the prison. But after a day or two I settled in and even got used to the fact that my bed isn't inflatable. The first night I stayed out so late, drank so much, made so many awesome/bad/epically glorious decisions that when I came-to the next day I was certain that if things continued at that unrelenting pace, I would be dead within the month. Over the next couple of days I had to learn to stretch out the nights. Things don't shut down at two here. Where we were all wrecked by one in the morning before, here in this city people aren't that drunk until four or five. Maybe even six or seven.
The women are the biggest problem. I'm pretty sure they outnumber the men and are a stimulating presence everywhere in the city at all hours of the day and night. I've even wanted to take pictures of random women I've seen eating in restaurants because I couldn't believe how beautiful they were. I was at a down and dirty tango club in one of the oldest, filthiest, greatest neighborhoods in this city on Sunday night and I saw a girl in a black dress that made me want cut my eyes out of their sockets with shards of broken glass.
See, all the girls born and bred in Argentina are of mixed European blood and it's a potent combination. I never want to hear you say "I don't like Chris Early's wife so I don't think I'd like Argentine women." ever again. I'm going to try and be as tactful and respectful as possible when I tell you that YOU HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT! Or what you're missing, for that matter.
Other than that there have been the Brazilian flight attendants, the Columbian bartenders, the girls studying from Peru, the Paraguyan girls with playmate bodies sitting alone at bars.
Then there's the food: Steaks and ribs and chicken and lomo and sausages, all grilled asada-style in a pit over hot coals. These "parillas" are everywhere. It's a culture that sustains itself almost exclusively on meat and italian food. And it's the best beef in the world. I'm sure even Japanese grillers of Kobe beef have contemplated sepuku after tasting the steaks here.
I'm telling you all this because Sergio hinted that you may be in. This time the place even exceeded my expectations. You'll have nothing less than one of the greatest weeks of your life if you come here.
I'm not sure what will happen four or five months from now, I'm still not sure where this whole thing ends. So hopefully you come now, while everything is still wide open.
Anyway, hope all is well in Los Angeles. I miss all you guys, and whatever ends up happening, this wouldn't have been possible without you.
That's something that I can't ever forget.
Oh, and tell "Butterfly" I'm sending my sweetest sentiments to her from here at the end of the world. He he
Wallace out
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