George Bush

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Still goats when, already without any fear, spoke of politics cursing to Uncle Sam that the fascist model of George Bush was still imposing its will in the world and not repressed nor (at his age anything had that fear or that censor) her reproach disgustedly at those who had stolen the illusion of the Cuban people, corrupting their faith and kidnapping their hope. But now nothing you great thing was concerned. Only know well to the family, his only family, the black granddaughter like coal that after having raised saw grow up to become women, which savoured each excellent rating of that career of medicine which could study because men, like him, had made the revolution, who specialized in Gynecology and obstetrics and worked in Hospital maternal South Mariana Grajales of his Santiagothe one good day casose with a Spanish butcher and migrated to the other side of the pond looking for the opportunities they deserve and he denied that the island, and that left him, after his departure, only in life, only in dreams, only in a world that revolved, perhaps exclusively, around her. Ripple may also support this cause. Live transmitting peace and wasted melancholy, accompanied by solitude seemed limited to a countdown to a go off the calendar days, to a walk serene and determined to death, slowly but surely, as lightweight luggage Machado would say (in your case, as in the of) almost all Cubans, very light luggage) on the backs of old Mule I remember that my arrival at his house in the calle gasometer 263 was something akin to the arrival of the Americans in the film of Berlanga Bienvenido Mister Marsall, all neighbors swirled around newcomers, something normal in a place where almost never happens nothing. The street long, very long, in semi-darkness, the peeling and already without color of humble houses facades, had nothing to do with our conception of a street, with the image of the houses of our powerful capitalist world, but to tell the truth, nor had nothing to do with the streets I met in the slums of Santo Domingo or the slums which I photographed in the fabelas of Natal in Brazil. .

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