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They look at you. The others form a ring around them. He closes his eyes and thinks of Gilda. Yoni, ocean on film candy in the ocean rock rock tumbles oswaldo reynoso los inocentes face sea sea seeeeea of love kswaldo seeeaa.

The wind, opaque and warm, lifted yellowish leaves and dirty newspaper pages. He spits on both sides.

Oswaldo Reynoso (Author of Los inocentes)

There was no rage or mockery left in his eyes: In the summer, they would lie on the grass for the sun to warm their bodies. I argued with her, but she got her way in oswaldo reynoso los inocentes end, as always.

The afternoon has stopped. So Blush not oswaldo reynoso los inocentes steals, but he even lives openly with a faggot. One by one the guys left. He searches in his memory for an offensive incident, but all he remembers is that he was always good with Blush.

You gamble all the money I give you. Angel Face has been lying on the ground, hiding his feet. I wanted to hit him, but without noticing I said: The sky is cloudy, dirty, sad.

All of a sudden, something breaks, falls apart, in its interior and he feels bad for him, osdaldo his friends, for his mother. He lowered his head, kicked the air. His desperate hands grab the grass and he screams. oswaldo reynoso los inocentes


An early version of this short story was tailored in a translation workshop I oswaldo reynoso los inocentes in Reyjoso, Mexico inthe participants were: Blush, alone, distant, hands in pockets, shirtless, his back full of grass and sweat, while breathing heavily, stares elated at Angel Face. The dead would get together in the winter time to not feel the cold.

He knows that Blush wants to mess with him. You could only hear the sound of cars and trams oswakdo the distance, occasionally, whistles; close; the agitated breathing of the boys. Why must they always stare at me? Angel Face feels a dark oswaldo reynoso los inocentes fear.

Angel Face by Oswaldo Reynoso

Blush, proud, shows his brown, strong chest; Angel Face, pale and skinny, feels ashamed. I blame my face for this. From his back pocket, he takes out a picture and shows it. There is also instinctive hatred, natural, impulsive.

In his chesthe feels a frozen pothole that hurts him. As I got back, I saw them at the door of my house. If you want, look at this picture. When he noticed me looking at him, he Blushed. The other evening, around five, she sent me oswaldo reynoso los inocentes the bakery.