The road to Mabote is red. Clay skating on our 4x4 blind curves of a road that goes into oblivion. Each meter seems the world, my world, spectra rubs and shadows. Nothing.
"But where will they go now, if four in the afternoon and at half past six is ??night? Not create problems and sleep today. Morning walk as they please ". The man's face is tanned by the claws of the mountain, and emphasizes its argument point-blank shooting: “Además, is a blizzard ".