AVENIDA DE LAS AMÉRICAS

We broke up with our respective partners and kissed for a first time, and, a few days later, when a pipe broke in his apartment, I moved into the room in the hotel he moved into while it was being repaired too. 
It was a mid-century modern building in a quiet zone west of the historic center of the city, six stories with a central courtyard surrounded by galeana and jacaranda trees hotel employees were constantly skimming the fallen flowers of from the surface of a small above-ground pool. 
Early every morning in a shady corner of the courtyard, we frantically relayed the important stories from our childhoods over omelets, oatmeals, or chilaquiles from the breakfast menu. 

At the high school where I taught, in the north, my students were learning when to use the infinite or the gerund after a verb. 
I commuted by bus from the hotel to the classrooms where they sat in neat rows dissecting practice sentences: I stop buying milk or I stop to buy milk, I like to play the guitar and I like playing the guitar, I finish doing my homework but not I finish to do my homework. 

When the bell rang I left for my abandoned apartment, also in the north, where I collected clothes for the next day and, in my abandoned bedroom mirror, popped stray pimples or gave my eyebrows a pluck. 
Then I walked the hour and a half back to the hotel along a main thoroughfare of the city lined with casinos and car dealerships, so consumed by a set of my own practice sentences I never noticed how inhospitable to pedestrians the thoroughfare was. 
I am going to fall in love and eventually just I am falling in love.