The way we see things

Wetting ourselves with a glass in the garden's bathtub, feeling what we couldn't feel while we missed the outing, our claiming act on the chlorine's favor that we would swallow every Saturday at the pool side.

Anyone could be a rebel at that age.

Abandoning the soup on the table 'til the fats exhale, 'til the flies sail on it, flipping with a synchronized swim.

Taking the tongue out confident that no one would take it in, Jumping from a window with the joy of being in a casual rush.

No one understood what "Anticretico" meant

Remember?

It was in the clothes rack that we learned to hang our shirts by its neckline, to see ourselves running through a blanket or a smock, to lift the face with closed eyes.

Then, growing up lessened our time in the courtyard, a rage to scale down everything, the times we preferred to return by bus and to wash our clothes and leave them outside all night long, all day long

and one more night.