Way next to my bicycle by a residential district. I observe the houses: in one of them, between the trees, it excels an immense large window. -What site to write! – fodder. While stroll, I imagine as it will be the lives of its proprietors, its yearnings, its problems, so different – surely, of mine. I also imagine, like it would be the life of people that I really want if I could give a house them of these, with faucets, of which they do not drip, with windows that close and they do not let pass the air, and a heating able to give heat in the coldest days of the winter; and mainly, to give that tranquillity them that gives the knowledge that when something is broken, has not finished the world. Engrossed way in these thoughts when a patrol car approaches and pauses side. Two police lower of him and one says to me: – What do you here? I watch the ground, and I respond: – Stroll dog. Both police look for the dog with the glance.
– Where it is the dog? – one of them says. – There next to the door – I respond indicating the door of one of the villas. The police watch one to the other: there is no dog. – You cannot be here: this is a private urbanization. The police observe to me. – It allows his identity card me? I look for in my pockets and coat the document.
He is the unique thing that I take above. – It lives in the other end of the city – the youngest police says. The police watches the photo and soon it watches to me. – Here it cannot be. It will have to accompany to us. – Without my bici and my dog I do not go to any side – I respond. The police watch themselves and one of them watches the clock and outlines an annoyance gesture. – It goes ahead, we we will accompany to him when coming out. I raise in my bicycle and balance sheet slowly down the street. To a side and another one, empty, sad houses. All has disguised, between fences and trepadoras plants, very high fences, alarms, grates, cameras of security and wire fences of thorns, of which they are used so that the poverty cannot transfer borders and to cloud the impeccable aspect of the world of the powerful ones. Nobody seems to live in these houses. Everything in this place seems dead; the noise of the motor of the patrol car only breaks silence that follows to us. -Orco! We go, friend! – I exclaim. And before the mocking eyes of both police, Orco, the dog that exists in my imagination, runs side, gordote and only cheers, with its heavy body of black color and its shining eyes. -You know, friend bicycle? – I say verily low: we leave the jail of the privileged people.