José Luis, truth is a difficult issue, I do not know if anyone believes in their own existence if it is not as a complement to the fundamental belief of each one. In the age of atomized fanaticism, my expression of truth is increasingly heard, without pretending to arrive at that one Truth. You can talk about the point of view and the prejudices, those beliefs that draw us more than the data, about a mentirosa emotional biography, about the fears that make our heritage more stable; about the fears of the children os.Un friend called us to tell us that his tenant had to spend a week in
Miami and had offered him a house to store business, because he was getting masons and, above all, about everything. As my friend does not see any class conflict anywhere, he decided that the petition meant trust, where I saw nothing but the manipulation of a paternalistic taker. So we departed towards Majadahonda, where a acquaintance of mine entered only as an observation pool, because of the frost, was filled with salt and mud in the Ax of the third hand.

The feeling of crossing a place that did not correspond to us increased when we opened the iron door with a key, and from then on the walk developed in a children's world. The pool, “has great advantages to share it among neighbors, so also the children can play among them”, he says, fascinated by the scenario of friends; the advantage of sharing was, of course, next to the individual pool, not to the municipal pool, that was not an option. Once inside the house he received us a thread that fell from the ceiling, he looked at us and we saw a SpongeBob, a balloon; in the kitchen the children's calendar, a chair, dishes, etc. ; some toy, more in the living room, filled with pictures of the girl, as an advance of her Facebook page; the room next to it was not waiting for the town's party bars, nor saying the garden.

My friend would see my face, and before I opened my mouth, he said to me: “Are you bringing out the consequences of the poor resentment?” “Yes, I am now as predictive as a song by Silvio Rodríguez.” It was not true, although it seemed strange to me, and although the situation allowed me to complete more than one class speech, I wanted demagogy at the house of Rajoy's girl, I was empathizing with the daughter of the rich mediocres, (the advantages of sharing the pool can only be enumerated by someone who is not entirely rich). I remembered the call of a 30-year-old acquaintance who had come down from such a private atmosphere to the world, who told us the fear that had happened when the train stopped them halfway, “we were there, standing in the nowhere, they were all immigrants! That there was another girl and together we took a taxi”, leaving others. We also remember that due to their debt to social security, they began to empty themselves in Madrid with private school; they have managed to finish the course there; poor yes, but not poor, strangers always more savage, who educate a little in the public school.

We finished the meal and went as quickly as possible, looking with piety, like them to us, at the fellow prisoners with whom we are on the elevator road: To Malasaña, in search of noise, in search of differences, in search of the world, in search of truth, I do not know if ours, or that of the few who have left without stealing the others, that of the children who share ball and biography in the cement square that the advertising campaigns leave from time to time, without doors of iron to scare fears.