Juanma Moreno came out in brown, with a brown jacket, maybe the color of not knowing how to govern yet, of his shift of office, like a labor lawyer of the 80s, or like those maest
Juanma Moreno came out in brown, with a brown jacket, maybe the color of not knowing how to govern yet, of his shift of office, like a labor lawyer of the 80s, or like those teachers and first-time poets in his desk photos, sprinkled with the brown of his world as the painter of his colors. The right is going to govern in Andalusia and I look at the jacket, maybe because Moreno was already in a drawer, like Marín , and now they return just like those coats turned around before, they went out for a second life like a cat cinnamon. Marín is also a lot of brown, a brown man of pension that politics has already taken almost without a suitcase and without a wardrobe. But they are going to be president and vice president of the Junta de Andalucía, and that is what amazes me, of course, not the jacket. One talks about the jacket because he sees two gentlemen without experience, framed with conscience, who are going to have the opportunity to change Andalusia but start with bad color of dizziness or colic, color of Vox.
I speak of Moreno's jacket waiting for him to roll up his sleeves, which must be politics first and foremost, not Susana's dressing table, nor Vox's child pony, nor the portable throne as Sanchez's portable toilet. Arremangarse, govern, that the corva smells of the lye of the dirty or the clean. He is tired of political theory and discount language , of so many gatherings of the end or the beginning of the world, and wants to see what really happens. I see those Vox heralds that are on TV now, Ortega Smith as an Italian Dracula; or Iván Espinosa de los Monteros, with the name and beard of Count-Duke, and it is very difficult to think that those gentlemen who speak as on board their lecterns or posing for Velázquez are going to save us, but they are shocked by the law of violence of gender, by the 'top blanket' or by the street plates. How can one wear that gorget beard or those flaps raised, with a lamp stuck, and be scared by the mother-in-law or by a clerk until you put it first of all on the papers, before the job in Andalusia. The social gathering ends and politics begins, for those of the ancient pattern and those of seasonal panama . And the brown begins to embridar or to surrender to the right that is pure hanger, like this column.
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