behind dark glasses the size of my ego, a fat one and half meters high spat at me shouting in front of cameras and microphones as the media is not telling the truth, that the government manipulated the facts and those two guys who looked like a gang who were climbing into an ambulance without any apparent injury were innocent of having assembled a chaos in a manifestation of the EMS.
in the mobilization of two other journalists were injured, one of La Jornada and another independent, adding to the long list of previous aggrieved by that band queer union, which also appears my name and that of several colleagues and Ariel Alvarez, photographer BASTA!, Dayan Jimenez de La Razón and Radio Center Isidro Corro, who had previously threatened with death.
One day later, under a sun that made me stick to the skin of the testicles into the fabric of the pants with jean pants. Standing on the tiles of the largest public square in the world who snorted the torpor of the days of April, the clusters rapidly germinating fungus between my toes enclosed in thick nylon of my tennis, I found myself up behind caveman screams one hundred electricians who groaned of pleasure with each of the words of its leader, Martin Esparza.

Given time, the number of potential batterers, and the tone in which he was answering questions from the press, the better I roll my claims and I walked down the line to prevent further chingadazos.
Jacks!
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