I feel that something's wrong tonight. It's been some weeks since the Mexico trip—I don't remember exactly how long—and Gus is acting different today. I don't know if it's some kind of intuition on his part, or if something's going on that I don't know about. I guess I wouldn't be surprised by either. But I can't sleep tonight. I don't think I'll be able to sleep at all tonight. Perhaps it's that he seemed almost emotional today—or as close to emotional as Gus can be. He brought me and Silvia over earlier than usual, and he said, with a subtle smile, "Today, I want to live." But he didn't do anything spectacular. He just sat and talked with us as usual, and we cooked arroz con pollo. When it was time for us to go home—well, that was strange too. He hugged me, and he thanked me for finding him, though I think it was him who found me, recognizing me among all the other workers at the laundromat. And when he said goodbye tonight as usual, maybe I imagined it, but I thought it was with a different tone, as though he was saying goodbye.