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I cannot help to walk through this day without remembering Lima. I cannot help but imagine Ribeyro, and his cigarettes, his wit and his struggle. Cannot help but to stare at it in this very moment, the gray sky and the soft and heavy-ish flow of things. All things, that are not really real today, now! They have no place anywhere but in little corners, hidden. I guess everything in the universe seems to have a little bit of Lima inside.