Carta a Miriam Jiménez Román:

It’s June 11th, your birthday, and I can imagine myself ending a long subway ride at the Atlantic Station, still wrestling with which ofrenda to bring you, or better said: which would least frustrate you. El biscochito you love pero hecho por “el presentao,” whose bakery you vowed to never patron again, or pick up another pinot? I know this to be your favorite wine though you never drink a drop of…