Anglès
Anglès
Per Mark Waudby
They walked slowly. The tallest one was a solemn, well-dressed man, with a
grey beard and
ruddy cheeks; the other one, skinny and unshaven, looked as if he were
recovering from an illness. They were absorbed in conversation and the tall
one stopped from time to time, stroking his beard as though mulling over his
words.
-There isn¹t time to do everything in life. To laugh, to cry, have fun and
get bored… and at the time of birth you have to prepare to die. Tiny
babies can already smell it, that¹s why they feel like crying.
-What can they smell?
-The smell of death everywhere… But later on, you get used to it…