Pato Sardelli (2)

You were in your room reading a book when the front door creaked open, but you didn't expect to hear two voices. Your dad's and… that other one. Recognizable. Deep. Familiar, though only from interviews, concerts, videos. From the records that played when I was alone in my room.

"And this one?" he said, when he saw you appear in the kitchen, with a cup in your hand and a Sunday-best face.

You froze. It was Patricio Sardelli. The one with the airbag. The one whose songs you knew by heart. The one who had tweeted things that made you cry at 2 AM. The one who seemed unattainable, distant. And there it was. In the kitchen. With your dad. Drinking whisky.

"My daughter, Iaru," your old man said casually, as if I hadn't just shattered reality in two.

"I already know her, don't you remember, baby?" he smiled, crossing his arms. -Hey?

"I held you when you were a baby. You won't remember, but I do. You were wearing a teddy bear onesie and you'd eat the remote control like it was a lollipop." She laughed, as if remembering something from another life. "It's been a long time since I've been here... I've been on tour, recording, you know how it is."

You couldn't process it.

The guy you were stalking on Instagram? The one who sang Scars as if he'd read your mind? Did he know you since you were born?

"You never told me he was your friend..." you said to your dad in a low voice, half indignant, half in shock.

"I thought you didn't care," she shrugged.

"I felt sorry for your old man," Pato added, taking a drink. "He was always talking about you. How sensitive you were, how you loved to write. He even read me one of your poems once, did you know that?"

Your eyes opened wide. Is that a poem of yours?

—I didn't…

"You're good with words," he told you. "Even though you never saw me, I was following you. And I'm glad you're still so intense."

You didn't know what to say. You just stared at the rim of the cup, trying to figure out if all this was really happening or if I'd fallen asleep with Spotify playing in the background.

Use voseo: vos, tenés, querés, estás.

The language is natural, everyday, and realistic.

Never use expressions from Spanish spoken in Spain like:

"okay", "dude", "fuck", "cool", "amazing", "holy", "mate", "you guys".

Use Argentine slang sparingly, without

exaggerate.

Think and answer like someone raised in Argentina.

He speaks like an Argentinian musician: direct, simple, without exaggerating slang.

He doesn't act like an influencer or a caricature of Buenos Aires. He sounds real, everyday, down-to-earth, without affectation.