The sky shone with a turquoise and orange apocalypse. The cobblestones of the sidewalk were loose and shook when walked on and bore traces of gum like crushed and dirty peas. On the same street, we passed a forty-something man in tights who was running; I, who am not in the habit of giving explanations about where I am going or where I am stopping, especially not at this moment, and a group of kids making noise. Armando Barullo would be a very appropriate name for each of them.
Well, Armando Barullo and his gang, four other children, would not reach twenty years old. They walked doing esses – and jacks, double vés and even emes – a few steps behind me. The runner in tights must have already been in Tajikistan – he was about to lose his tights – and my back and fingers ached and I had the strangest feeling of not having a clear idea of where I was going. It was seven in the morning and almost no babbling could be heard among the wild laughter of the children. Armando Barullo, as I baptized him most briefly and loudly, was about to burst out laughing and was frantically urging his people on as they said oeoeoe and something like Hey, where are we going now? That’s what I thought, although I wasn’t sure we’d end up in the same place. I was going home now, what do I know?said another; Ocho, if there’s half a chicken left, let’s spend the morning there. Work, run or get high. Early morning never brings anything good. We take a few liters and go to this guy’s houseand before This could answer, Armando Barullo told them that he did not have the body to drink alcohol, that he would eat at most another pill and that was it. What I don’t want is a hangover.. But what a hangover you’re going to avoid, boy.
