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Is there anybody there? : -0

muchíiiiiisimo time ago that I have abandoned this blog ... but the magic of Minerva is still alive ...
anyone there?? or no one visits this blog: - / If there is someone there to leave a comment so I know if I can continue to explain the incredible story of The Minerva. Remember it all started a New Year's Eve, perhaps it can be magical :-)))

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cachivachero Nietzsche: Ten commandments for writing style Maestro Evil Charter

5 Months Pregnant With Right Shoulder Pain

Here is a gadget that was dusty years, including old lunch boxes and backpacks. In view of the neglect that I had to blog, this letter I woke up and asked me was she who broke the silence of my dusty grave virtual room. As not for me to say no to the whims of my junk, ice here.

Letter to my [fortunately very few] bad teachers (and only them):


Regards, [not so] respected teachers! Although for many years I walked through my life without regard to how your [bad] teaching might influence it, now I'm willing to devote a few short paragraphs, thanking the biggest lesson I have left: how [not] be a good teacher.

Thanks for having made the history of my country in an endless repetition inconsistent dates and names, huddled for years in the brains of their students so that, in addition to purge any interest in the national past, constitute a brain capable of bolus cause cramps at the mention of a hero or national holiday. Of course, successful work to keep us straight to sing the anthem, not weighed on the meaning of their stanzas beyond the obvious to some of their phrases.

Thanks for not bothering to understand the students who did not respond to their teaching strategies (when there was, of course) and try to measure its forty-odd students with the same pattern, often archaic and outdated, and utterly false. In this way, I never realized who we were as individuals, giving us the first shades (and I still think unintentionally) of the crisis that many suffer in adolescence to want to mold and adjust expectations to seek approval of others.

Thanks (and these should also be extended to the directors of the school, an educational strategy planners discriminatory and biased) by make the arts an activity of fourth, fifth or no priority in their educational scheme. Because the kinds of "music" became a second recess without any serious or professional basis, and because even the famous "art education" was implemented in a way that only what is required by law runs: with reluctance and without any respect for this important discipline.

Thank you for making a universe of infinite possibilities and the mathematical world in an airtight closet where we torture every day immersed in a terrible educational elitism ", ie in a regime where the understanding of less than ten percent class was sufficient to consider the lesson and learned, and to hell with the other thirty-six individuals who did not understand what it was or how it was done factoring the polynomial. I seek refuge in my secret belief that somewhere in the universe, to teach mathematics without infinite illustrate the logic of its principles is a sacrilege. Thank you for downloading

frustrations and disappointments as professionals failed (as they do not fit doubt that), with young people who still believe in the possibility of a prosperous future which are the protagonists. Thank you for managing with some amusement (it was only betrayed by a brief glow in her eyes sadistic) a stormy "Zero-nine", well knowing that that student depended only one hundredth to pass the subject.

Thanks for being famous examples of what not to do in any of the classes you teach, because the volume of malpractice have shown me how to discern the way that a true teacher should go if you want to create a difference in their students . Each of his actions has shown me the depth of the abyss where you can drop a teacher who loses his way, the purpose and meaning of what it represents.

In short, thanks for making me see where is the waste that pollutes mankind. Was dark when they decided to engage in teaching. Enjoy these brief thanks, for they are the only ones who will receive me, and perhaps the only "thank you" they have is to start with the word "thanks."

immediately forget them, his former pupil:

Kenbei.

It

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Episode 9: The Accident





Episode 9: The disappearance

The operation would be successful, at least for Galindo. At every step he took, his sadistic smile, invisible behind the mask, it became more and larger. Merino is over, here and now. The heart of Isaac, and his life was in their hands, in the hands of a psychopath, a sadist and a quack in every way.

meanwhile, waited impatiently Barby in the operating room door. I felt like his heart was oppressed by an invisible hand, the fear, the fear that their beloved doctor did not survive the surgery, especially taking into account who was the surgeon of this intervention. I could not think, I could not feel ... just wait.

bíallegado

At last the moment has been waiting for Dr. Galindo. His bizarre mind machine and machine ... open heart surgery, a pacemaker, the death of Isaac, and everything in your hands. Merino is over, came the era of Galindo!

But suddenly, the lights, and thus the machines. A faint metallic screech was heard in the OR, to everyone's surprise. Indescribable sound that resembled "something" metallic. The doctors began to talk among themselves, while the colorful insults sounded by Galindo, in an effort trying to maintain his composure. A scream pierced the room contrasted Galindo attempt, or any of those present: Barbara. The cry of Seville tearing the silence of a hospital bathed in the shadows caused the reaction of the other members of operating room, tried desperately to stabilize quee Merino. But to everyone's surprise, they find the table empty. Isaac Murphy was gone, and with it all hope by Galindo to kill him, and Barby to look into their eyes one day. No one understood anything, nobody had heard anything or seen anything. Only a metallic screech, and the disappearance of Isaac Merino operating room.

I apologize for the time I've made, but Marcus has returned. This is only an encouragement, strength comes in Chapter 10. What is the squeak? What happened to Murphy? We will know next week.

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New edition of the ingenuity and design. Tecnun, University of Navarra. Presentation

http://www1.tecnun.es/ingenio/intro.htm

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The Motherland:

false impression that there is such thing as a "pure culture" because in the end, even the most established and hegemonic civilization was once a chaotic set of villages was kneaded with time (and often, with the wars) in a custom omelette which later would become a nation.

The culture of Spain, the "mother country" of Latin American countries, is anything but the exception. For if we follow the connotation of affection (and almost reverential) term that we refer to Hispanics to the nation-empire erected in the Iberian Peninsula, it appears that, as a woman, this mother also call Spain was the daughter, granddaughter and great-granddaughter of other cultures not only preceded, but influenced in form of walking, singing and dancing (read their folklore) as, and here is the issue that concerns us and concerns us most, in their speech and writing, ie: your language.

Long before the birth of Spain as a nation, the Arab culture and is courting the Visigothic kingdoms which were different with very different idiosyncrasies. The Arab invasion in 711 AD brought not only the land north of Gibraltar new theological concepts and socio-political, but in the midst of what could be interpreted as a simple (and fierce) territorial struggle, is fertilized embryo would then the mother of all the Hispanic nations.

After eight centuries of violent transformation, the historical period known as the Reconquista ends with the capture of Granada and the end of the Moorish occupation, but the soul of Spain was marked, and arguably a quasi-genetic level, for eight hundred years of cultural fusion that is still evident with is recognized as "native" English culture.

And then I pose the question, although not in this paper it is answered: why only speak of mestizaje in Latin American peoples, when studying the combination of the African race, the European and the Indian? Having regard to the long period in which the Iberian Peninsula was more Arab than anything else Is not could say that Spain (and as mentioned, virtually every human culture) is the product of a "fusion" long before the Americas? one that seems to have preferred to keep hidden chests of history and homogeneous disguise, as the "White Creoles" kept the portrait of a family member or indigenous black afraid that would prejudice its "pure" cultural.

these paragraphs then I close my mind in our blood that is double, triple, and infinitely mixed, perhaps because mestizaje itself is stamped on every human town, but his delusions prevent them from blinding purity recognition. Because as I said at the start, no homeland other than the daughter and granddaughter of others which, though remote, leave your mark on it. And by hope for a future where cultures recognize their interdependence and pluralism, ended with a cry of hope and prayer that is the legacy of those men from dunes and carrying scimitars: I wish!

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also mixed Truth (Tale in ten trills *) Ten Commandments of Perfect

Nobody knows where is this place called "the Truth", but confuses everyone who asks for it and give directions.

"Truth? Look the mountain passes, crosses about 10 miles ... "
" No, boy! The truth is in the desert .. "" No, no, no, the truth ... "

" Let me tell you, the truth is in my village, come I'll take it ... "
" Hey! Do not be fooled, the truth is alláaaa arribota ... "

" Come, dear, I explain: Truth is near here, I visited a lot when young, but I do not even remember where is that walking.

"Do not listen to this poor old you, the truth is where it always has been. If you want to take him, I always step over there "...

parched, tired and discouraged, he sat in the lonely, dusty road, and suspected that sought the truth of others and not his.

days later, saw him pass, and asked him where he went. "The Truth" answered the gesture of someone who knows something that others ignore.

"And where is that?" she asked, wrinkling his nose. And he answered: "I have no idea, but that's where to go."

"Need some guidance?" offered a shrill voice. "No, thanks. If anything I have discovered, is that the Truth must come alone."

- END - (really).

* Originally this report was submitted in the manner of "trills" in network "Twitter."

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Storyteller - Horacio Quiroga

I

Cree

a master-Poe, Maupassant, Kipling, Chekhov, as in God.

II

think your art is an unreachable summit. Do not dream on taming. When you do, you will get without knowing yourself.

III

Resist all you can to imitation, but imitation if the influence is too strong. More than anything else, the character development is a long patience.

IV

Ten no blind faith in your ability to win, but in the ardor with which you wish. Love your art as your girlfriend, giving all your heart.

V

not start writing without knowing the first word where you're going. In a story well done, the first three lines have nearly the importance of the last three.

VI

If you want to express precisely this circumstance: "From the river the wind blew cold," no more words in human language that aimed to express it. Once you own your words, do not worry if they see each other consonants or assonants.

VII

No adjectives unnecessarily. Useless few lines of color will adhere to a weak noun. If you find that necessary, he will only have a unique color. But you have to find it.

VIII

Take your characters by the hand and bring them firmly to the end, without seeing other than the path that traces. You do not get distracted seeing what they can or care to see. Do not abuse the reader. A story is a novel purified of rubble. Take this for an absolute truth, but it is not.

IX

not write under the sway of emotion. Let her die, and then evócala. If you are then able to revive it as it was, you got into art in the middle of the road.

X

not think of your friends to write, or print that will make your story. Account as if your story has no interest rather than the small area of \u200b\u200byour characters, of which you may have been one. Otherwise not get the life story.

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Wake up, pawn! Shadow Poem

"Pawns are the soul of chess" François Philidor.

Listen, pawn: Back Off! Why go along without thinking?

What drives your trot sad pictures what is a sea?

This war is not yours, you the king you have not ever seen.

Tell me, then why are you fighting?, What you are acknowledging your loyalty?

Did you ever notice you, perhaps you can not return?

You go to death with every step you take.

And all why, by whom? "For the kingdom," I say.

What kingdom or eight rooms! That is just a false game!

In ele horse gallops, the bishop is on the diagonal,

towers in a straight line, but may return!

The Queen and has been seen: bombastic and majestic,

and although your little king advancement, protection has to spare.

instead you're going step by step in your walk straight

all the army knows that eventually you will kill.

And yet you continued, looking straight ahead and not thinking

in a march and a war that can not explain.

If you are white against black is your sword sucrase.

And if your armor is Ebony, the snow-white hate.

Who got you into this conflict head biting? That

-white hatred that you have not ever understood.

ever told me to think

the possibility that across the board you will become noble.

But tell me, worth the risk

that dream life you have now, your soul, your identity?

What is this war will last forever

whether or Kasparov or Fischer wanted to end?

man not let you out of your pastoral

home and throw you into the violent, sad and dark ugliness.

Too much has been the time in this conflict are.

not think of your existence, you have not made

think that this battle only you absurd you can stop.

"Me?" Exclaim incredulously. Yes, you right where you are!

Listen very closely and with all your round face:

Refuse to start the game, do not move to anywhere!

And while above you dare to jump a horse

you stay there, lead foot, and the battle will stop.

If you manage your new colleagues to join this plan

or the monarchy or the clergy

find any way to resist that your firm immobility.

You've won, laborer: Cheerful greeting of peace!

(Thanking my neurotic tovarych Benedict Spinoza for his valuable clarification made possible a verse of this composition. And wait for the patience hump Twitter).

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Some ancient sages, the kind that nobody remembers, papyri written in crisp, which today are only mold, which at the time of the creation of man roamed the cosmos gray beings of animosities and impetus screaming in minor keys. And as his life was confined to the shadows of the void, that he wanted to acknowledge their existence, but due to his impatience, Top Secret decided to sneak into the broth that is prepared in the most sacred chambers of their stays. And among the divine substance, made from the noblest particles may be found in the widths of the infinite, mixed those dark beings, and became part of the brilliant clay give rise to our species.

By creating, at last, the much awaited fashion plate, His joy was such that the Fourteen music filled the empty skies and even the deep corners of basements Five. But in the midst of His luminous joy He did not notice the strange shadows moving behind the eyes of the man, who was still still, it had not received the breath of gold that would allow freedom to move with elliptical and round in his new abode, a floating balloon that contained his most recent creations and was the pride of His immensity.

He began the eternal movement of cosmic orbs, of that produced toy you had taken six full days to create (although nobody knows how to measure the "days" in his world, or even if his world is a world , and must believe that more are things that scholars had no way to call and simply chose to use their own sensitive measures to explain to his) and that even after have created, I spent most of his time, which also was infinite and therefore could not devote all really, but I understand.

Finally, when he began to turn parapet realized that something was not according to His plan, that the doll was behaving strangely, hurting himself and the small growth of its core . That certainly was alarmed, because if things were not going according to His plan, "according to the plan of who would go? It is without doubt one of the problems of feeling paranoid anxieties when you're omnipotent.

and cash with an exclamation crescendo that reverberated in every corner of the (not so) Vacuum, gathered his large winged heralds court to see if anyone knew what could have caused such an anomaly and how it was that had escaped from his vision and infinite dimensional. Some forward, senior, carrying colorful wings of feathers of brilliant bright as peacocks, and other back, small and playful cherubs, small wings with white feathers and goose (not a swan, because those were reserved for higher standing within his court, a Los Angeles-or arquerubín). The fact is that all trembling on the inside to know that he was furious and desperate, and His tantrum incandescent blinded them in sight.

But turnout was among the winged flying a pair of eyes and ruby \u200b\u200bglowing wings did not feel the fear that his wrath caused to their peers. And it happened that for a long time coming considering his work, and was therefore, in secret, had studied enough His creation as to dare to suggest what might be happening in this blue-green area where the man blasphemed His name and violated His plan of harmony and cosmic order.

And the voice of those who wore the scarlet wings sounded decisively with the silence that his presence inspired, and timbre that sounded like piccolos pastoral prepared to explain that strange, dark creatures had crept into his work at some point, maybe in that day that he announced would rest, or perhaps a day before, when busy creating the mosaic of a shell or to tweak the design of a poppy.

To the astonishment of his winged subjects to hear about that unexpected, and seeing that face in the midst of these red wings was drawing a strange grin, one that in all His eternity had not seen a For the first time he noted that in His infinite existence still there were things he did not know and could escape its pervasive eye, did not know what to say. And in a silence that stunned the world lowered his gaze to the servant who had dared to question his perfection.

The yellow eye of the Red Wings had felt the warmth of omnipotence, and no longer found it so easy to talk as if they were equal. Dejected in His immensity, tried to apologize, explaining that it referred only to say what he had seen, something that could easily be seen, only examining the controversial fashion plate and removing what was now the essence liquefied dark creatures that were now part of it.

But it was useless: He no longer listened to him and rebuked him strongly to his colleagues to question His omnipotence, His omnipresence, and His ability to know all the questions and all possible answers, and his flaming anger filled by a moment all the rooms, including five basements, which caught fire with flames that last for eternity, while he alone knows when.

And it was then expelled from the Red Wings for suggesting that He, whose capital in each of its pronouns indicates an unquestionable divinity, had made a mistake. And so hot in those rooms was flaming, his tears no longer produced the sparkling tears of yesteryear, because they evaporate, and her uneasiness soon turned into anger, but not against him, whose omnipotence secret was overwhelming and made her tremble, but against his work, that stupid little man who played by his light and his dark living playing to kill. And cursed the figurine, and perhaps elusive shadows being so huge and omnipresent He could not see.

And if you have only their wings were red, all he had turned red fire, red hot, red, red madness of frustration, and only his eyes had retained the color before being confined to the old Five cold basements, and open those yellow orbs as their thinking vowed not to rest until prove that they had shadows in men, and that he was wrong.

And whenever a man dies, and its luminous essence meets with His omnipotence, Expelled extracted from the abandoned housing those tiny shadows and takes her hell, hoping that one day will again have the opportunity ; submit to Him, and that may retract his punishment, and recognize that he was distracted and made a mistake. And the slimy creatures in their language still shouting guttural bass sounded archaic, frustrated by failing to recognize that He will not, and longing for the moment the Red proved their existence to Him But too much time has passed, and nobody gets countless documented evidence envelopes and ardent appeals to the Courts Blue.

know that you have forgotten, and has begun to think it was more useful for the universe to have him in the hot corners where he had been confined. And thanks to His commands, utter his many men names as a symbol of evil and darkness, and some say that once they saw the snake, dial offering a tasteless fruit which was a figurine of the first rib, among many other stories of those who had not the faintest idea where they went or who wrote them.

The truth was that he had been convicted for telling the truth, at a time when he did not understand that individuals omnipotent nobody can question anything, and to enjoy His grace is better to keep your mouth shut. This I learned when I was perhaps too late, more for older than for what it was, or rather, by what they said it was.

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"To invent, you need a good imagination and a pile of junk. "
Thomas Alva Edison.

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This unit belongs to the block teaching Art and Technical Drawing. Spent working in croquización platforms and background knowledge for the development of graphics capability. Unit 1
develops integrated during the month of December in order to make manifest a level of skills with computer design tools, and also can be developed individually during the Christmas holidays.
This didactic unit development from the Official Agenda Drawing: T24
presence of geometry in nature and art. STRUCTURAL aspects. Historical Overview. T21
Industrial Design. Building processes and materials development. Fields of application. T31
DIN, UNE, ISO. Essential elements for proper croquización and bound.
T73 (not yet on the official agenda.) Software for teaching and learning of drawing. Internet Resources (Included as a tool to help develop some of the content, serving as a training stimulus and complement).
Content (BOC-n ° 156):
1. Art and Technical Drawing
- The milestones of Technical Drawing.
- Geometry in art.
- The aesthetics of Technical Drawing.

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elusive given (square poem)

After discovering it, hate some have taken it to the sea. We are many prisoners in a square world. At least we have his poems to remember. Alfonsin, of course:

Squares and angles (Alfonsina Storni)

Homes
row, houses strung strung
houses.
square, square, square. Homes
strung.

People already have the soul square

ideas straight and angle on the back. I myself have poured
a tear yesterday,

God, square.

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Resentful Decalogue

In a dark wooden chest found a pamphlet handed me a crumpled hat and overcoat man whose sharp eyes still remember today. I also remember that after giving it to the peculiar man walked away shouting something about the scum of the earth and the unfairness of life. Upon reading it I knew it was a bitter union representing her and tried to convince passers-by to join what he touted as "a lifestyle applicable to any individual, where only just follow some simple steps . "

follows is a transcript of the pamphlet, since the original has become unreadable because of that I've gone to a ball amuñuñar even smaller than it was when I met him in the trunk, the product of the same emotion struck me when I first read it, which is now identified as the possible reason that the individual has been away in whispers. Here goes:

"Decalogue" Resentful "
(or" first steps to becoming
one of us ")

1 - I resent, therefore I am. He may not exist, suffer from my absence.

2 - suffer all alike, without discrimination, because others will always be to blame for my misfortune.

3 - suffer from the wealth of my neighbor, regardless of their origin, for I am not one who enjoys it. I will pray for his swift destruction and laugh just comes.

4 - suffer from the physical beauty of others, ostensibly because if it had been obtained by merit. I will enjoy seeing them fall in disasters where their phenotype to rescue them.

5 - suffer from the intelligence of those who know more than me. Always seek the way to discredit and to take every one of its flaws to ridicule.

6 - suffer from whom I offer help, because I know that basically only does it to rub your superiority. Wait time to see the hard-pressed to show how superior I am.

7 - suffer from my enemies, because I have chosen me to fight it, having so many people in this damn world.

8 - suffer from my friend, for I have chosen me to support him, having so many people in this damn world.

9 - suffer from my family for she is the main culprit of my failures. Not fail to make the same mistakes to be able to blame them of my misfortune.

10 - suffer from anyone who is happy for the simple fact that I'm not.

If you follow these steps to literally
Congratulations! If you are a resentful.
Welcome to the club.

NOTE: We have no phone or meeting place because no one has deigned to offer assistance in this crappy city that only helps blacks, immigrants and homosexuals, who are responsible for the misfortunes of our nation, which has gone to hell thanks to the fat cats who are very happy doing nothing. What intellectuals? Well, thanks! stuck in their books without finding a solution to this issue. And the nuns who offered their alms, JA! That is the mess you-know-where! One unemployed, and the church is still giving the chutzpah to come and give bread and wine. Like our parents, who for a glass of wine ruined our childhood and allowed one end like!

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What

how often I go to this place where they accumulate my dusty thoughts? Definitely not as much as I could or wanted. But make no mistake that I have not forgotten, as this would forget myself. I finally found a moment of silence where I can get on the ladder and climb to the dark attic of creaking boards and Baroque cobwebs and see what gadget bag useless drawer of my memory.

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Episode 8: The Accident



The ambulance arrived quickly to the hospital. Manolito went quickly to find the head of the medical guard, while preparing to Isaac Barby for shock resuscitation with electric current. Merino could not die, your hero does not deserve to die like that, the only person who believed she was on the verge of falling forever into the dark abyss. Manolito
not find the head of the guard, and was the only doctor that was available at that time. But the doctor seems to be too happy that I have called.
- Pa 'that make me get up from my nap? Got Fingered "For he has a heart attack?
- Doctor Galindo, not anyone. Is Dr. Isaac. And for that you get paid, after all.

A malicious smile crossed the face of the novice surgeon Galindo. Thanks to his contacts, he knew all of all his "enemies", including Isaac Murphy. He knew perfectly the state of his weak heart. I knew I needed a pacemaker with deadly urgency. Murphy knew that would not depend on one ... but above all, knew that open-heart operations were happening "accidents." Once in the emergency room, without even a glance at the patient, ordered Galindo Barbara, with a hint of disdain in his voice:

- The patient has a weak heart, confirmadlo in its history. I get the dodo to the operating room 4, which is what is available now. I'll put a pacemaker.
- One moment, Galindo. Isaac know what you think of ...
- Eh, eh, enfermerita. Callaita're prettier. A Merino is a pacemaker installed, like it or you no. Is it clear, niñatilla? Or do you prefer to speak with Dr. Fuentes of your impertinence? Do not think I have problems sending you to the fucking street, eating garbage and living under a bridge as you have been all your life.

In Barbara's beautiful face broke into a grin like hatred, as he launched a withering look.
- Sorry Dr. Galindo, will not happen again.
- I like that. Tell prepare the operating room, take the old thing and have it preparadito, I'm going to crack.

Galindo The corrupt mind started scheming. Everything is ready ...! Finally going to shake off Merino! Everything would be seen as Manolito a problem. Had come too late, and could not do anything. The truth would be concealed by a gentle veil ... death would be in the operating room ... and with a pacemaker in his heart.

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Rhymes Climbing to the attic for a Deceased Comedian

" And to write, my brother

have to put love

That is learned in the plain

starting child "

Manuel Graterol," Graterolacho "(1935-2010)

rhymes are not the same

the verse is only

a pot and now has left us the great Manuel

Graterol.

Today

rhyme mourns

but not for long as the proper

Graterolacho

always wanted to see us laughing.

Sorry for the clumsy verse in this

I write blog

but that Don Graterol

would like to keep alive.

Below

miss him and has not been even one day

but it takes his rhymes

his humorous poetry.

"Do not cry so much, boy" would joke perhaps

teacher "that he who fights for what our

Graterolacho support it."

While there is good humor and constructive criticism

Graterolacho

not dead because its essence is still alive.

Out partying with Achilles

*

must be the third one

with anecdotes of thousands

of humor who was faithful.

The sky must be

party since he was a great reinforcing

Graterolacho in the clouds

smiles to the universe.

* Nazoa, of course.

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disappearance Jägers


Episode 7: Jägers

all happened too fast for Barbara. The apartment door had been forced Merino doctor, and he suffered a heart attack, in addition to the strange behavior of his tutor and friend. Something was affecting the trial of Merino, modifying their behavior, filling his mind with doubts, but what most appalled at the Seville was not this, but feel a strange distance who was his savior, who had rescued from a life on the edge of reality.
The ambulance arrived fifteen minutes after being called from the home of Isaac. Barbara, wiped away tears, had not moved from the edge of Merino, patiently waiting for the arrival of medical equipment. The doctors rose rapidly to the second floor, where the patient was lying in the cold marble floor. Barby recognized one of them, a certain Manuel "Manolito" Carbonell, newly arrived at Hospital del Mar, voluminous curly distinguished him above all others, as well as its broad nose, which contrasted with his fine face. His behavior was not best or most suitable for a novice, but still, never silent anything ... even if it take out of their boxes to Galindo.

Barbara, absently, looked Manolito. Quickly, his mind back to reality.

- Quick, take him, Isaac has suffered a heart attack!

- Why have not done anything, Barbara? Why have not tried to revive him? You know you could die for your child react? Are you aware of it?

- Yes I am, Manolito, take him and not lose more time!

- Yes, yes ... but go prepared for a good director from the Fountains.

As he spoke, Manolito began performing heart massage, alternating with mouth-to mouth, but there was no way Isaac would not react. Barbara went with Manolito and the entire medical team, preparing for the consequences of their actions. But he missed a detail, or rather, had forgotten about it. The lock on the apartment door had been forced Isaac. Someone had come looking for something. But who? If Barbara had entered, might have seen a homeless guy drinking a bottle of good Scotch Merino. Perhaps he had realized that the miserable was reading photocopies of famous diary. Yes, Isaac had lied, had even photocopied the newspaper, to understand a mystery haunted him. The impoverished individual will draw a big smile on his face.

- Well, well ... the doctor is seen going to give you many problems on "those", perhaps it is time for the move tab Jägers .