Normal, by Julio Llamazares


I have a dude to whom everything you tell, however incredible or crazy it may be, it seems normal. You tell him, for example, that the train trip between Madrid and Lisbon lasts eleven hours and that you have to take three different trains (for a distance slightly greater than that from Madrid to Seville, which takes three hours) and he tells you “normal”. You tell him in astonishment that you just found out that the marquis who shot his wife and a friend to death before committing suicide kept an arsenal at home without having a weapons permit, despite having been reported for threats to his mother and a sister , and he answers that “normal”. You are surprised out loud that the Federation of Mountain Sports and Climbing of Castilla y León is in Valladolid, which is the only province of the autonomous community and of Spain that does not have mountains and says: “Well, normal”. With him there is no way to argue; nor of reaching agreements, it is true. Since everything you tell him will seem “normal” to him, the conversation is soon over.

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