An illustration by Jorge F. Hernández.
That one that goes there is a question mark, the daughter of an ellipsis that moved from Valladolid to Morelia in the last century.
Without knowing it, she comes across a silent exclamation mark on the corner that mitigates herself so as not to translate as an exclamation.
Between them they have signed the passing paragraph of a daily page in an uninhabited Madrid, without tourists (therefore, without italics or italics) where life is read with a burning Sun named Lorenzo waiting for the Moon to confirm that it is called Catalina. ...
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