Juan Luis Guerra - El Niagara En Bicicleta 〈HIGH-QUALITY〉

I feel like I’m fading, Juan said, his voice a dry whisper. My head spins, and my chest is a storm.

Juan felt the room tilt. He looked out the window at the bustling streets of Santo Domingo, where the sun beat down on the asphalt. It felt as though he were standing on the edge of a great canyon, and the only way across was a thin, fraying wire. Juan Luis Guerra - El niagara en bicicleta

The hospital waiting room smelled of floor wax and old anxieties. For Juan, every tick of the wall clock sounded like a drum beat he couldn't quite catch. He sat on a plastic chair that groaned under his weight, staring at a flickering neon light that buzzed in a frantic rhythm. He was here because his heart felt like a bird trapped in a cage, fluttering against his ribs with a dizzying, uneven pace. I feel like I’m fading, Juan said, his voice a dry whisper

When the nurse finally called his name, she didn't look up from her clipboard. She led him down a hallway where the tiles were cracked and the air was thin. They reached a room where a doctor sat behind a desk piled high with yellowing files. The doctor’s stethoscope hung around his neck like a tired snake. He looked out the window at the bustling

It is like trying to cross the Niagara Falls on a bicycle, the doctor continued, finally looking Juan in the eye. We are all pedaling in the air, hoping the wind doesn't pick up.