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This news article was originally written in Spanish. It has been automatically translated for your convenience. Reasonable efforts have been made to provide an accurate translation, however, no automated translation is perfect nor is it intended to replace a human translator. The original article in Spanish can be viewed at Pensé que mis piernas eran melocotones

I thought that my legs were peaches

Ibon Linacisoro. Director01/09/2009

September 1, 2009

I thought that my legs were peaches, so round, so suavecitas and leathery. But soon I knew who were not, that my feelings were due to the effect of the hyperbaric chamber in which, incidentally, always lived under the effects of the coca leaf to avoid altitude sickness that produced me my privileged professional and social position. They were my best years. I arrived even to be the most beautiful Street in my community of neighbors and once President greeted me.

I left thinking that my legs were peaches when I left you need the hyperbaric chamber because it was no longer my privileged position. The abrupt departure of the hyperbaric chamber had collateral consequences: normal legs, absence of one's self, mental beeps... It was the fall of the pedestal, the living from the rich. The certainty of poverty, the stinking obligation of daily work, the slavery of the acquired defects. I began to ask for impossible things. How much weight a hole? Why do I have to work? Does the fire burning?

The worst was the long process that I had to endure to assume that something should be done to bring to the table, a dish of lentils. Work! The damn Word, evil was more widespread of the new. It was not worth already with four successful operations, a few meals with the company in restaurants led by gastroempresarios, a llamaditas to a few friends here and there placed to talk about these terrenitos in my name. I was doomed to the vulgarity of everyday work. Often, during the harsh working hours which wasn't used, I wanted to again think that my legs were peaches. But they were not, my legs were legs.

Meanwhile, my vague soul sobbed and crujía little accustomed to fajar in the day to day of working routines to the efforts of a body. With the crisis work I came to me, but even that job softened the heart of my usual Bank, which refused me the money. And it was then, with the soul subdued by misfortune, I found a new opportunity. Yes, it was willing to give my soul as collateral for a loan. I was wondering what a Latvian entity, Kontora Loan Company, and I said yes. I only had to sign a contract headed with the words "You agree to offer as collateral for the credit my immortal soul". Fresh money in the hands gave back me a part of my previous life, and I began to spend as long ago. I soon made payable to the Bank, which exercised its right on my soul.

Desalmado and used, I am already one more, one of the lot. One that misses its legs of peach.

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