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Hayward, California

I am the outskirts of a nonexistent town, a prolix commentary on an unwritten book. I am no one, no one. I don’t know how to feel, how to think, how to love. I am a character in an unwritten novel, passing by, airy and unmade, without having existed, amid the dreams of whoever it is who didn’t know how to complete me. — Fernando Pessoa Books are the only homeland of the writer. — Roberto Bolano