Don Ovid January 11, 2016 at 4:08 pm

– And you say it was housed here until a few hours ago? -If Miss. And I still have in my possession the my room key. The 301 – wait a moment, gentleman. The receptionist made several calls. Ovid waited impatiently those minutes. How thirty years passed according to the clock of his despair. According to the wall clock had not gone more than five minutes. -Don Ovid, my colleague informs me of a small change.

Things have been moved to room 201. The 301 is have leased it to an artist who each year visit the city by these days and always requests the same room. We think that you will not bother. In any case we offer our apologies and we give this bonus so that you consume what you want at the bar, on behalf of the House. -Ovid made a gesture of understanding, gave the key and received which offered, along with a card blue. He walked without haste towards his new room, introduced the key into the lock, pushed the door and found himself before a bed clean and tidy; in the corner table and on the table with her books box.

Everything was in order. Everything except its ideas. Why you could not sleep well that night. The next morning she packed clothes, your old newspapers, the second books bought at a good price in the bookstore MARKOS and four discs of Alfredo Gutierrez, which he had bought in a remante of music of yesteryear. Payment account at the hotel, took a taxi to the Terminal, he bought the ticket for return to his people, he passed through the post’s magazine where acquired a copy of the journal the Atlantic and went to the place he most liked: in the middle of the bus, the right window. Two minutes before the vehicle began its March opened the newspaper and read the holder of large red letters: the strange case of the Hotel the note was extensive and in the center of it contained a photo in full color: a box where a crucified man, with the head facing down, towards efforts to cling to life.

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