Twelve Nails.

Late night. Ana is sleeping alone in a double bed. Her cellphone rings. Dazed, she turns on the bedside lamp to shake off her sleep. Reluctanly, she gets out of bed and, at 2 AM on one of those nights when you can see the vapor of your breath, she showers, gets dressed, puts on her makeup, walks to the avenue and takes a cab to the other side of town, so she can go deep into something more than the darkness of the night.