More screams, feminine, and a litany of “no”s.
Hola, nena. Dios te bendiga. I hope you’re well…know you’re busy but…wanted to talk if you have any time today. Things in Venezuela are really getting to me…couldn’t get out of bed today, just stayed in watching the news. Thank God the US recognized Guaido…maybe more countries will follow now. Anyway…love you. Call me.
A still from an upcoming documentary, "DIASPORA," by the Troconis. It is set to be released in late summer.
This photo exists in a set of portraits taken by Troconis of members of the South Floridian diaspora. The woman depicted here is an academic and political analyst.
The words “bureaucracy” or “consulate” barely take up space in her mind—she has never felt the spinal compression that results from waiting for governmental redemption that does not come.
It is Sunday and outside the window, it is snowing. Concrete and brick roofs are steadily being layered with powder, each snowflake building upon the one that came before in a way that seems to Juan strangely democratic.
The clock read 2:08 p.m. and there was a steady, pattering rain hitting the plastic, tent-like roof.
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