Zascas, cars, mixers, by José Luis Sastre

The other day I chronicled about a political party and its contradictions, which is what best garnishes a chronicle: contradiction. Chronicles like this, better or worse, I do every day and I never thought when doing them if they were going to work or not; I did not have a way to measure it, nor do I know what it is to function in a chronicle, because it is not a mixer or a car. Functioning was, I suppose, something to be understood, whatever it was.

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