A border in Bàscara, by Albert Soler


In one of those demonstrations in favor of implementing (remember how that inane verb became fashionable?) the republic that was in style after 1-O, when many people ignored the deception, I bumped into a former mayor of Bàscara in a bar. A jug of several liters was made to be filled with beer, in order to go with more encouragement to claim the republiqueta. I did not take it into account, since even then it was clear that without a few liters of alcohol between chest and back, no one in their right mind would go out on the street to defend imaginary republicans.

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