A woman searches for Manuel Puig’s grave in the cemetery of La Plata (Buenos Aires). She finds it, although she is told it is not the right one. It does not matter that her arguments defy reason; she chooses to cling to belief. A walk through the cemetery transformed into ritual, a clepsydra-like time, and a map of the places where, many years ago, other bluish encounters took place, alongside Manuel’s new pink-hued territories. And a favorite song.
