The voice is young, sweet, innocent and yet, broken in a way only love’s betrayal can scar.

She accompanies herself on a guitar, languidly strumming. Not living, not dead. In the between. In the neverland of a broken heart. The vocalist drags out the last words of each line, as if groping toward a precipice. It may be in Spanish but it feels very French.

The singing is coming from an upper patio of the building next door.