“The meat is weak.” That justifying phrase was pronounced by Don Astasio’s wife when he surprised her in an erotic trance with a stranger of hers.
“And what am I?” sniffed the indignant man. “Vegetable?” A friend of Babalucas informed him: “My new phone number is 11-111-1111.” He asked the badulaque: “Is it a telephone or a comb?”
Men cannot plan their growth; the cities yes. For example, I would have liked to have been tall, but I was always among the smallest in the class. My mom told me about Napoleon, who despite being short conquered half the world, but that did not console me for my short height. Besides, I didn’t want to conquer half the world.
My ambition was greater: I wanted to win over the girl next door. I failed in my attempt, of course: she barely reached a little above her waist. (Over the years, by the way, she married a guy who was shorter than me, but who looked pretty tall sitting on her bag.)
Cities, on the other hand, can plan their growth, at least to some extent. My city, Saltillo, for example, has grown in an orderly way. There are no poverty belts in it, and even the most modest neighborhoods have the necessary services. It is not a celestial region, of course; addresses the problems of any growing city.
But for some time now it has had a series of good mayors -only one very bad one I can remember, unfortunately a PAN member, whom I will not mention so as not to offend the illustrious name he bears-, and all of them have taken care that the city develops in a that it does not threaten the well-being of those who inhabit it, so that we live in peace and tranquility, except for isolated episodes. I have another city in my heart.
It is Monterrey, to whose immense generosity I owe much of what I am. He has given me bread for my children, friends for my soul, unforgettable memories for my memory. That is why it pains me to see the afflictive situation in which this great metropolis finds itself today due to the lack of the vital liquid, an unprecedented expression that is used to designate water.
The Nuevo Leon capital and its surrounding municipalities have grown in a way that has already become problematic. And yet, the construction of huge office and apartment buildings continues to be promoted in the city center, which appear like mushrooms every day, if I may use that original simile. I wonder if the problems that the proliferation of such buildings will represent for vehicle traffic and for the provision of basic services -mainly water- have been considered. Perhaps the time has come to curb such excessive growth or regulate it by anticipating what may happen in the short, medium and long term.
(If there is any other term, I apologize for not having quoted it). Better safe than sorry, said our ancestors. I strongly hope that this crisis will pass soon, and that the thirst of Monterrey residents, with whom I am united by both affection and gratitude, will be relieved. Miss Himenia, a mature celibate, commented to her little friend Celiberia: “I’m tired of those obscene phone calls. I think I’ll refrain from making them from now on.”
From the open window, Dracula watched as his firstborn son, Draculito, sucked the blood from one of the alabaster breasts of the innocent maid Mandy Lou, who slept her innocent sleep. The Transylvanian count shook his head, heaved a rueful sigh, and exclaimed: “Ah, modern youths! In my day we were content to suck blood from the neck alone!”FINISH.
LOOKOUT
By Armando SOURCES AGUIRRE.
These plums have a nice name. They are called Santa Rosa.
Its color is red, a red so intense that it almost reaches black. Her flesh is sweet, like a woman’s, and when you bite her juice overflows your mouth and escapes through the corners of your lips. A basket of these plums placed on the kitchen table smells the entire house in Potrero.
The plum trees are loaded. We must put stakes in its branches, or tie them to the trunk so that they do not break with the weight of the fruit. But we must hurry to reap the harvest, for we have friendly enemies who beat us to it: the deer and the bears. At night they come down from the high mountain called Coahuilón and have a feast with what cost us a lot of work in the year.
Don Abundio gives himself to hell. “So much watering, so much fertilizer, so much care,” he says, “for these bastards to come and do us a bad deed.” I pretend to get angry too, but I think that the Lord’s creatures should also enjoy the fruits that come out of his providence, from his land, from his sun, from his water.
“There must be something for everyone,” I tell Don Abundio.
“Yes,” he replies sullenly. For all who work.
I remember the lilies of the field, which do not reap or spin and yet not even Solomon in all his glory dressed like them. And I remember Santa Rosa, so beautiful, so sweet, so good. May she distribute the plums in the name of the Lord.
See you tomorrow!…
MANGANITES
By AFA.
“. A young wife gave birth to triplets after nine months of marriage.”.
He marveled greatly
her husband, and nothing dull
said, “That’s weird. I remember
We did it four times.”
#politics #worse