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Dream

3
                                     1­Walls
Gustavo looked at the walls as he always did, or rather, as he used 
to   do.   He   looked   at   them   and   wondered   whether   they   had   been 
built from the top to the bottom or from the bottom to the top and 
then   thought   about   how   silly   his   ideas   were.   In   fact,   none   of   it 
mattered. It would actually be interesting if the walls were built 
from the top to the bottom, though it didn’t seem likely. Nor did 
that   “Freedom”   exist,   Gustavo   thought!   What   Freedom   existed? 
As a young boy he had moved to that neighbourhood, that area, 
that place, that home. 
­ I remember Banana, Windy­Bag, Booze­Bottle, grunted Gustavo 
in the general direction of his friend Emílio. Remember them? No, 
and I don’t care to. What is the point of remembering what doesn’t 
exist anymore? You’re right, Emílio, it doesn’t exist anymore. But 
it   does   exist,   deep   down   it   exists   because   it   is   what   made   what 
exists now exist, it exists because it exists in us, it still exists… Stop 
with  the  old  man’s stuff,  Gustavo!  Not  even  you  exist,  have  you 
thought about that? 
Gustavo became slightly annoyed and continued talking to himself. 
Emílio   was   too   much   of   a   realist   for   his   taste.   Deep   down   he 
considered   himself   a   “great   demystifier”,   as   Gustavo   would   tell 
him. But he wasn’t. Neither him nor anyone else, actually. 
He   had   spent   many   years   there,   in   the   Bairro   de   Santa   Clara, 
between   Víboras  and  Camelo,   number  31,   as  it   appeared  on   his 
postal address. Had he seen the World or had he seen nothing? He 
had been travelling for a few years, today he didn’t know if it had 
done him any good, if it had harmed him, if it had done anything 
to   him   at   all!   He   had   recently   met   a   young   man.   He   would   be 
around twenty­seven years old, a kid, he was a doctor, who knew a 
lot more about life than he did! At least he, Gustavo, thought that. 
His travels hadn’t given him any special knowledge, maybe they 
had   even   made   him   a   more   confused   person,   kind   of   mystical, 
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