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Solo Briefcases
Achieving the release of people who have been kidnapped by criminal organizations is certainly laudable, but use it to advertise internally or externally is certainly reprehensible. But overall, the leaders see the results of their actions as obtaining coats to increase the alleged admiration that people have towards them. In this category comes not only President Chavez, but also the President Sarkozy who, after all, only Ms. Betancourt cares because it's the only one that can reap dividends in their release and we imagine that the participation of former President Kirchner at the ball is due to the need to momentarily forget the scandal or briefcases. Try this mini-release of hostages as a case to clean the image of the FARC is an insult to intelligence. The FARC is a criminal organization that used the hostages as human shields to protect their movements and their lucrative drug business. Enough to want to play politics with human misery. The best and most detached acts are those made without trying to reap the benefits with them. Peace is not a business is simply the aspiration of every normal human being. Today is the typical sad day that we all more or less with some frecuencia. Llueve. Rather sparkles and has done so for hours without parar. Me like this kind of rain. The rain cools, moisturizes without actually soaking. On leaving school at about two o'clock in the afternoon I went into the mouth of Metro, as I do every Friday. I've sat in one of the stone benches are so uncomfortable. I pulled a book from the pack: An Essay on the clarity, Jose Saramago (book read so far, will incorporate immediately to my favorite) and there I have been dead. Calculation that had to spend five or six trains. All of them have ignored completely. I have been hooked again something as material and human. What many people look to the opposite sex I find in a mere inky pages. Actually, my movements could be expected and predictable suspects. Whenever I noticed the arrival of a new train looked around me, looking for familiar faces. Nothing. Nobody. People running. Suits, ties, briefcases, serious gestures. Nobody. I wanted to go. Leaving the station hinóspita. Wanted to ride in the car and quietly leave. Concentrate on my book. And not something I podía. Había whispered: "Stay and have the reward. Stay to smile. Stay because you and I know you want to stay there forever. " I get up. Do not take it anymore. I close the book. I frown. I throw a look that I feel hot. Reaches the coveted sixth tren. Le give a new opportunity to the book after disappointment. Perhaps the only thing in those minutes was waiting for it to end. The book was only my morphine. . . .
