An old, shameful phrase, of those that no one dared to erase because, according to the city council, “it was part of the story.”
Don Manuel hadn’t sat there to provoke anyone.
He was just waiting for his wife, Carmen, and his granddaughter Lucia, who had gone to buy ice cream at the corner.
But Sergio Molina saw something else.
He saw a chance.
At thirty meters, several children played.
A couple ate snacks on a stone table.
Two old ladies walked by the arm.
And in the background, next to the kiosk, retired agent Javier Robles threw a ball with his son.
Javier looked at the bench for a second.
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