Then I realized that the time had come to shave everything inexorably, but at that point it was really too late for my razor. It seems that just the other day someone in the neighborhood tried it with his own one, getting an embarrassing patch in his hair bush. We were all transforming ourselves into Cuban revolutionary-like. Beards and mustaches, locked up at home to plot against governments. And in fact, judging by the last comments to the public statements of presidents and representatives, despite a bit of panic and terror continued to accompany every war report, people began to show that they hold much more to freedom than to their own health — after all, it is not that corpses were still piled up on the street, as in times of plague and cholera.
Mister Anthony pointed out to a neighbor that in his day we used to die much more than today in any case, and that during his life he had seen more people die of modern vices and medical malpractice than of natural death. For a moment I asked myself what the circumstances would have been the day it would be my turn. My mommy’s recommendations came back to me: “Shave and change your underwear, because if something bad happens to you on the street, who knows what they will think of me!” And I went to settle down a bit, so as not to dirty her reputation. I needed scissors.
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