Sunday, 25 April 2010


He's my neighbor. He lives just on the floor below. Everyone in the building adores him and last year they organized a party at the portal on his birthday. He is always very friendly and greets with a smile on his face: Molt bon dia tingui (Have a good day). When he has a chance, he speaks about the weather and that he was born and lived great part of his life in the Pallars, in the hearth of Catalan’s Pyrenees, one of the most inhospitable regions and ,at the same time, more beautiful in Catalonia. He goes for a walk every day and also to buy bread, accompanied by his inseparable cane.
When I take the elevator with him and some stranger, I can't avoid the question: "Do you know how old this gentleman is? Well, he looks pretty old indeed, he or her usually responds, not imagining how far are from the truth. And if my old neighbor does not give him or her clues, as explaining that he was born a few years after the Cuban war, my moment arrives: "105 years, he is 105 years old!" and they look so surprised that almost can't open their mouth.
I just hope to continue doing this a few more years yet.

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