

back home fall was pumpkin spice and basic sweaters. here? the trees don’t even bother changing color properly. just half-assed yellow leaves that stick to your shoes while some old guy yells about futbol from a cafe.
but idk man. there’s something about the way the light hits those crumbling art nouveau buildings at 5pm. how the air smells like charcoal from parrillas and poor decisions. how strangers share mate like it’s a survival tactic when the subte breaks down (again).