I spent my 29th birthday in Buenos Aires. Called by my Argentinian literally and musical heroes, and by an encounter in my home town with a woman who, by writing down her number on a napkin, changed the course of my summer. I saw lines everywhere I went in Buenos Aires, unusual, for a Latin American city. All its mystery and chaos nicely packed within the lines of its buildings and streets. Similarly to my affair, explosive and intense yet nicely packed in the limits of the eight days I spent in the Argentinian capital.