“It was raining. Enveloped in a large T-shirt which he had lent me I was leaning on the window-sill, kneeling on the chair placed against the wall. If I knew the language of the rain, of course, I would write it down, but everyone recognises it, and is able to recall it to their memory. Being in a closed space while outside all is water, trickling, drowning ... Making love in the cramped backseat of a car, while windows and roof resonate with the monotonous rain-drops... The rain undoes bodies, makes them full of softness and damp patches... slimy and slobbering like snails...”

Le Boucher, Alina Reyes