No teníamos paisaje ni ausencia, ni marcas del tiempo, ni súbita respiración entrecortada, ni aliento indefinido, ni inquietud maltrecha. Éramos todo garabatos, oídos reunidos alrededor del rumor, de la maledicencia, mal olfato de los corroídos cuerpos, sangre purulenta. Íbamos a vagar con las sombras, por el recorrido de los ojos cerrados, por el retorcido olor de lo fétido, por el corrupto tatuaje de la vida.
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