At the time when the Red Devil's Chicken put its pound egg, there was a little curious and beautiful village in its own way. It was on a blue coastal strip, from where the same Americas could be seen. In their homes, even those of the poorest, the rain did not enter when it was not. The street dust was not strange to him, when there was no wind blowing.

But on a Friday afternoon, when no one remembers, everything suddenly gets confused: oblivion and disdain started to live the hangars the architecture of the villa and, with it, the history of all its inhabitants.

The dictatorship of the catalogue.

It is known that, among other things, history is sewn with patches of streets, parks, walks and buildings of a city. However, overwhelmed by the madman, the friends of that town agreed that the city needed new rags to be known in the world.

They planned the new city – the new one – and built a list of constructions that could “forgive”: with which they were said to be artistically meaningful, historically memorable. Churches and convents were saved. Jesuit University. Palaces of four or five wild creatures...

It's done. In it the architecture of the city was collected and with it the history of the city. The architectural catalog became a catechism of the official history.

The neighbors asked that the building not be demolished, that the park be saved, that it be kept on the bridge ... Five to the authorities. They had forgotten to give in to the great powers in small things: “It’s not in the catalog and the city needs space to modernize.”

The fryers of bleach on the banks of the river, the banks to sunbathe the the old, the views of the hills, the crests of a soldier of all the young people of the city and the nest of the red rooster remained discontinued.

All of them were torn down, and if modern, but with an irresistible canon, glass palaces of over forty floors were built, six-lane highways to circulate to eighty, metal museums, and they excavated mountains with the excuse of gaining more land and space, they built tunnels and placed a reward to pass through them.

Modernity, old.

But it had rained. Lift the wind. The chicken, with its magic broken, stopped laying giant eggs.

All of a sudden everything was modern the year before. They wrote the new catechism: the catalog. They listed the churches, convents and palaces of four or five infants. They flushed the glass towers, they flushed the steel museums, they flushed the mouths of the tunnels...

They followed snow and ice. The heat and tempest... The towers, higher than the towers in front of them, had been rejected. Unlocking the obstructed tunnels... It is well known that bad things are covered with vulgarities.

And from the hill, the old people looked with interest at the city, which wanted to be an ever-young, fashionable villa, which didn't know how to keep its story.

One of those old people said, when he felt that the gap of the banks of yesteryear would be irreparable, contemplating the radiance of the clay bricks that filled the city: “Eating the hen on the grill, eating iron.”