Starting Point: Relax, Nothing is Under Control.

It was any given Tuesday afternoon at the office, an advertising agency of which I was working as Client Specialist. Berni was talking over the phone with a complicated client and I was just about to resume my work after a very nice lunch at a local french cafeteria with Maxi, my argentinean boyfriend.

He was visiting me in Chile after I went visiting him with my family for the "Meet the Parents Weekend" that went pretty decent, considering my father's alcoholism and the "watered" and fulfilling italian meals. Italians are dead serious about food and wine. A typical meal would include appetizers with drinks, salad with drinks, pasta with wine, meat (a whole pig for this occasion, but usually a rabbit would do) with wine of course, and then dessert with sweet wine. But if this isn't enough, then there's coffee with chocolates and digestifs. So yeah, I guess you could get pretty drunk and then go for a nice nap under a tree until it gets dark and you're sober enough to drive back.

Anyway. That Tuesday we had a nice light lunch at the french cafeteria around the corner from my office. I remember we had our last serious talk. We talked about how well everything went in Argentina with the 2 families, but we also talked about his friends. He has about 5 close friends, and I only like and actually trust 1,5 of them. The rest of them are sketchy. Always involved in barely legal business (if not completely ilegal). Always playing to win no matter what, with lots of girls and lots of money to party. I felt they where dark people, but they were his friends and it was better to keep them close.

When I got back to the office it was still lunch break, so I had a ciggy with Berni and chit-chatted about some annoying clients. We went back to our office and Berni was on a phone call with this particularly annoying client, who wanted to put a QR code in his website, not understanding even how it works or what it is for. Me, I was mentally preparing myself to have my own phone call with my own dumb client when I was checking Facebook and I decided to check my messages. In case you don't know, if someone wants to contact you but it's not your friend, you'll get that message in a different inbox, the "Others" inbox. So I went there. And there it was. Waiting for me. Dated 10 days ago.