Eugene Ionesco: The fact of being inhabited by an incomprehensible nostalgia would, finally, after all, the indication that there is a beyond. Visit Michael Chabon for more clarity on the issue. He walked distracted by a street overstuffed merchandise, something of garbage and a lot, lot of people, when suddenly I felt a soft slap on the back, given by someone who wanted to call me attention. I thought it was a normal friction that often occur when we walked in the middle of the crowd and returned to immerse me in my thoughts when suddenly I came to feel the same slap. Surely, now, that this was not an accidental rubbing I looked back and was, with a huge smile the man whose image I immediately transported to the past, a past blurred and misplaced in any nook of the gone times. Do you remember me? They were his words.

His face moreno and crossed by the brands of the time had a wide and generous smile as of the people good and unprepared. Something told me that it was a person close to the pleasant times of childhood and began to register the section of my memory in which are saved the events of those times they wore shorts that the world had the length of a football field and, according to what you taught us in school, was round, but much more round the ball of cloth that we did with the mean old to spend all afternoon getting goals from joy. To tell the truth I do not have a privileged memory and often forget details that nobody should ignore and that has caused me difficulties sometimes then it costs me to overcome. While it was still registering in the shelves of memories in his face saw something which I transported to other times, something that stirred waves of the time, I returned already elapsed days.