Some Fridays later, as she crossed the chorus of economists, Theater director Mayelin Manzo was to diet that stupid evening when her great grandfather took her to sort the pen. At that time La Sierra was a republic of thirty asbestos cement houses, established on the riverbank of a beach of inescapable sweats that expanded along a valley of instantaneous theories, which were avoidable and realistic, like occasional febreros. The zone was so animated, that very few banks lacked hugger, and in order to sort them it was vital to function.

75