The Balcony

Nobody served me coffee, or opened the car door for me. The driver was another. And I didn’t know where I was. On television left a so stupid like mine song and another singer with my same smile, but with another face. I looked out to the balcony, with my smile in tow and a tumult was not formed, nor heard shouts or fanfare.

I sang and danced without receiving applause and two passers-by laughed at me. My looked as if he were a madman. I could not sadden me because my smile remained stuck to my face have I died? I asked myself. I wanted to call someone, but I didn’t have who and do not know what to do, just know singing and dancing to the rhythm of the idiocy. My old songs do not leave me. Look in the mirror and there is nobody on the other side I know, I know! I have to break the mirror to get out of this situation! Yes, and call that girl’s dark and wavy mane who sells newspapers in the Plaza of the grain. My lips already move and speak without smiling. I know that there is a fountain at the end of the street Matasiete and a river, there where the lighthouse, where you can stroll in the spring and see few poppies that remain.

I imagine surrounded by people, the spotlights focusing on me, broadcasters around the world recording me and I… and I? Is there someone there, to the other side? Is there anyone who drink a glass of wine and chat? Writer. With several essays on economy in relation to the economy and basic income. Author of plays and stories of great originality.