Dwelling

As a child I took to assigning to an imaginary purple cow all the consequences of many mischiefs.

At the time when my little sister was walking on a leash and an invisible dog and simulating puffs of steam with steam that she smoked in chocolate cigarettes, I took to blaming the purple cow for having left a statuette like the Venus de Milo porcelain or the crayoned Sistine of a once white wall.

The fact is that purple is my color and when I think about it I have plenty of reasons to taste it ...

Sign in to continue reading

Just by having an account you can read this article, it's free

Sign in

Thanks for reading EL PAÍS