If you find yourself in the bar Colombia near the cinema you will find some small, black flecks on the marmoreal, chess floor. I am not sure if the flecks made their landing inside the white or the black squares, but for sure I remember some of them on the white part of the floor.
Back that afternoon I was sketching with a pen filled with ink and as the liquid would stop flowing, I would shake every minute the pen in the air. The ink would fly on the ground and create small circles. When I realised what I have done, I was so ashamed and almost wanted to confess my action to the old man owning the bar. In the end there was no confession, because I was sure for an unknown reason that the man already knew without me telling him. Inside this bar for years, he would even feel the difference some small flecks on his bars floor make. So, I thought to not tell him and see next time, if he will allow me to enter again the bar. The next time didn’t come yet, but it soon will. Usually it’s every Monday, but there is no rule in that. It also depends sometimes, if there is any film playing in the cinema.
What I haven’t realised when leaving the bar was that my face was also decorated with some black spots. Someone inside the cinema told me later. The ink wasn’t that easy to remove and it would leave its traces even the next day.
For a moment I felt like a part of the floor made out of marmot or some of the sketches I used to do. There was no feeling of unique identity, no feeling of being me – yes, in these moments I could be anything, but at the same time I could still tell that there was something of me there.
Further below you can find the audio description of the story: