Loneliness and monotony: the curse.
A hostel named Terminus.
“Pero no puedo entrar la casa,” the man said, putting a bag into the backseat, dressed as if to go to a soccer match.
The stranger said, “We could go to Barcelona, but you would have to drive. Can you do that?”
The story would be one of a kind of eternal summer, an obsession.
It would be one of escape.