THE LEGEND OF THE GOLDEN

I've always been a fantasy salesman. It all started with a friend who founded the first store of these and ornaments for wholesale sales in Bogotá. Before, they were sold in china shops and other businesses of different kinds. Although there were many manufacturers, none of them had the idea of ​​organizing a business dedicated to distributing them. That's how I started. He sold wholesale in the neighborhoods of Bogotá, or in nearby towns. Little by little I was acquiring enough clientele to sustain me. Before I had dreamed of being a legal professional, but the environment got me into this field. However, I was saving nothing. The wholesale fantasy businesses prospered until smuggling arrived that competed with the national one at a better price, and of better quality. Many manufacturers went bankrupt, while others progressed in San Andresito in such a way that they changed their businesses for theirs. To friend came up with the idea of ​​creating a shopping center that woul...

  I'm a salesman, and my job is to do it on buses. Before I´ve done others in the midst of that law of searching that life in the cities forces us to do. For days and months I saw how in some shopping centers groups of children, young and old, gathered, buying books, sweets, garbage bags and other trinkets that were offered at retail in different sectors of the city. I was very tempted by the idea of ​​doing the same. I thought it was an easy job, but no. The first time I boarded a bus to sell some books on natural medicine that gave me a good result after paying the ticket and asking the driver's permission, I lost part of the profits. Or rather: That was my first shift, as the salespeople say in slang. My first lesson: Never sell on crowded buses. Even though I won, when I came out several books got lost in the hands of unscrupulous travelers, and I still liked them. After that day I continued doing this type of sales on the buses. However, I risked going up where others ha...

Some believe I work with a transportation or survey company. Others, that I give the lucky number to the drivers. But no. I am a bus calibrator. Let me explain: For those who do not live in a metropolis such as Bogotá, a chaotic city where the fight for the penny reigns, and thus do not confuse me with the street children who stand on the corners of the avenues, and they hit with sticks the tires to check their pressure. No. My job is a new profession in this city. We are still few. Once I began to think that it would be a good business to tell each bus driver how long it took him another bus on the same route, or just tell him if he was going ahead and very close. Among this guild they themselves spoke of the fight for the penny. Well, one day I made up my mind. I got myself a notebook and a pencil and I started to write down the numbers of the bus routes and the bus companies in an organized way. It was not easy. Although not all do it, I have tabulated the tracking of buses and rout...

  They tell me female shoplifter. Since I was a little girl I have been like this. I accompanied my mother in this trade. While I was asking the owner of an establishment for an item, I wrapped it   up with thousands of tricks to entertain him, while very sneakily I went inside, rummaged in the windows and took out what I could, and especially the money. Without further ado we sneak away. Many times they caught us, but what could they do if I was a restless little girl. It seems that previously these were dedicated to stealing clothes. That was his specialty. While one was deceiving a merchant, the other hid some garment under the naguas and carried it between her legs. But no, now we take everything we can, even if it is a jewel, a radio, anything of value. We usually work in a group since we cannot do it alone. Sometimes my colleagues do theater, while one asks the owner for any merchandise, another grabs the other's face to mislead the customers, and thus sneak away with so...

Standing in a challenging position, her hands on her waist, she angrily watches the woman who from the window of an old building reveals a dark and smelly room. It gives her the same nausea that she got when one of her mother's clients raped her. She listened to the advice of her friends who explain the importance of having sex without feeling the pleasure of surrender. She does it as a revenge for the mother who banded her and scratched her for trying to do the same as her. Therefore, wear makeup. She wants to feel more female than the mother herself. It doesn't matter if they notice her girlish face.

  Tired of navigating uncertain paths, he slowly strikes the soul and takes a deep breath to endure the mystery of death. Very slowly it breaks away the sweat of dreams. The ether splashes the room and flutters tremulously the environment caressing the universe that beats its stars between explosions of atoms and traveling lights. Quickly drains the sip of life eager to meet its destination after a hectic past. He haggles over the little that remains of his own, ready to indulge his feelings on the shore of the stars. This urges him towards the future without pause, leading him to look at his image in the reflection of the shower of stars that move in rhythm towards infinity. It is seen in another time without future or space. Cultivate the land with the dew of tears shed on beards weary from the rigor of yesteryear. It is progressively repeated in diffuse instants, as if death were the one suffering on the carriage of life. It has never been the same throughout history. His image ...

The other looks at me silently. I look at him with the same look. There is no handshake or talk that breaks the silence. We both recognize each other after knowing our existence for a long time. We have many things in common. But even so, friends get confused with our attitudes. They think it's me, but no, it's the other. Rather, it seems that we are playing hide and seek, as we have never met before. They hate me when they see me serious, and they hate my attachment to vain things. They like to see me as the other. We cross our eyes without saying anything, and they reflect the animosity we have for each other. I break that reflection into a thousand splinters wanting to end that chance encounter. I turn around and leave the room in a daze thinking about the common things that tie up our lives. I manage to hear the noise that the other makes reconstructing the mirror, in order to look at myself again and detest with equal or greater force everything that I represent. The oth...