It was at Victor’s Café, on Rue St. Sauveur, on September 11 in 1983. A group of masochistic Chileans had gathered to remember that dismal day. There were twenty or thirty of us and we were scattered around inside the café and at the outside tables. Suddenly someone, I don’t know who, started to talk about evil, about the crime that had spread its enormous black over us. Please! Its enormous black wing! It’s clear we Chileans will never learn.
Roberto Bolaño, The Savage Detectives
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