This is a fan-translation of one of my favorite books "Historia de un amor turbio" from Horacio Quiroga.
 The slang used in the original text might be too reversed to translating it, so bear with phrases making a little less sense that they originally do. 

I

                  A morning of april, Luis Rohán stopped in Florida and Bartolomé Mitre. The night before he had returned to Buenos Aires, after a year and a half of absence. He felt that way the mayor disgust from the stench in the air, from the morning brooms shaking on the noses, from the heavy vapours of the confectionery cellar. The beautiful day made him miss his life outside. The morning was admirable, with one of those autumn temperatures that, fresh sobrates for a long station at the shadow, ask for sun during only two streets nonetheless. The thin fence of the sky squared high above, I evoked the immensity of their countryside mornings, their early runs to the mountain, where no sound can be heard if not the friction, on the air, humid and spicy from mushrooms and rotten trunks.

                 All out of the sudden he felt his arm being grabbed. 

                 - Hello, Rohán! From where the hell did you come from? I haven't seen you since more than 8 years... 8, no; 4 or 5, I don't know... From where did you came? 

                 Who stopped him was a boy from before, amazingly fat and with a tight forehead, to who linked it so much friendship like the one with the mailman; but being the boy of a happy character, therefore he thought on grabbing his arm, full of an affectionary surprise. 

                  - The countryside -responded Rohán- It's been 5 years since I was there... 

                  - From La Pampa, right? I don't know who told me...

                  - No, from San Luis... And you? 

                  - Good. I mean, regular... Even more skinny each time -He added laughing, like a fat person laughs knowing well that he jokes about the skinniness-. But you, -He continued- Tell me: What do you do there? A sojourn, right? I don't know who told me... Also! Only you could think of living in the countryside! You always were weird, that's right... you do work right now?

                    - Sometimes.

                    - And know how to plow?

                    - A little.

                    - And you plow yourself? 

                    - Sometimes...

                    - How notable! For what? 

The obese kid enjoyed, so happy, even so the torture of his neck that congested him, from the pants that under the shirt tug him until the chest, choking him, felt himself really happy with the occasion where a strange man wouldn't offend at his laughs.

                    - Yeah, the other day I've read a similar thing... Astorga, eh? Tolstoi, eh? How good!...

 And besides everything it was a good boy who talked to him, which made Rohán think again about the corruptive civilization dose that would be needed for turning that esceptic douche to a honorable man. 

For venture, Juárez had already passed to a better topic, already having informed Rohán on 3 minutes about an infinitude of things that he wouldn't ever even dreamt of figuring out. 

Rohán smelled him as who eardrops, when one is distracted, the far away talk of the workers on the stay. Then Juárez noticed his friend look passing right over him, and muting himself saw with him. 

Two mourning girls were walking on the opposite street. They walked with the firm harmony of walking only sisters acquire, the body straight and the heads serious and decided. Passed by without looking, the view locked ahead, Rohán followed them with his eyes. 

                    - They are Elizalde daughters -said Juárez, meanwhile he took a step down for better chatting-. How long have I not see them! do you know them? 

                    - A little...

                    -They haven't see you. They are cute girls, the tall one more than anything. She's the youngest. Living on San Fernando... They are very poor. 

                    - I thought they had fortune...

                    - Yeah, on another time. The father was pretty alright. Yet with the train that they were managing... Had everything mortgaged. Died nearly a year ago.

Rohán couldn't do anything other than noticing him: 

                    - Well knew...

The fat boy threw a big guffaw, leaning forward from the laughter like a woman. 

                    - Not really, don't be that bad! -Reposed-. We must stop being poor, friend Rohán! Not everyone have the luck to heritage sojourns and stays... Even if we have to plow -added another laugh, holding himself at Rohán shoulders with a dearing trust. 

Then he took notice on his suit.

                    - You don't work with these clothes, right?... Why don't you come in boots? 

But Rohán have already been drawn tired from the excellent little animal, and walked alone.

What Juárez ignored however is that Rohán knew in excess the Elizalde's. Behind a friendship of ten years with the house, Eglé, the youngest, have been his girlfriend. 
He loved her immensely. And there they were, nonetheless; she walking with her sister her single beauty, and him, single too, working on the countryside two hundred "leguas" or 541 miles from Buenos Aires. Eglé!... he repeated himself the name on a quiet voice, with the facility of whom before have pronounced a word a lot with different emotions. But, besides those two syllables already known evoked him distinctively the love scenes on which he pronounced them with most desire, constated that all that now old passion only left him with a love for the name,  nothing more. And he mumbled it, feeling only when hearing it a dark sweetness of a word that before he expressed much, like idiots who with a locked view repeat entire hours: -mom...

                    - How much I loved her! -he said to himself, forcing himself in vain to be moved. He reminded himself the circumstances in which he felt the happiest; he looked to himself, and looked at her, looked her mouth, her expression... But all of this with excessive prolixity, forcing himself more to remember a scene where his sensations, as who tries to really look into something to later tell about it to a friend. 

Always walked, thinking about her, when out of sudden he thought of seeing her. 

Why not? Even so after the breakup he never returned back to Eglé house, that one who have provoked them for causes so particular between them both, that, he didn't find any complain to do it. He felt over anything the curiosity of seeing what emotion she would have when they see each other at their eyes... And again he evoked the love stare of Eglé, stopping her long in his own, trying without victory to revive that feeling from those times. He knew from Juárez that they lived on San Fernando; wouldn't take him much to know where. 

The next day, at three, he was on the Retiro. Now that he approached to her, that he'll see after an hour, he felt excited. Mentally anticipated her arrival, the surprise, the first words, the ambiguous situation... Then snapped back of it, And sighed deeply to regain his whole equilibrium. But at some time the process restarted -retrospective this time-; and like that, with his eyes staring at the windows, meanwhile the stays, sojourns and pass points were setting in success under his visual, he goes back to his past.