Bipartisanship was about to return, the two-party Tertullians said - how well they lived, they sigh - and Errejón gave birth to them. So we have six national parties arranged in a three-on-three combat formation that at the same time prepare for intra-block fratricide with very good Spanish. The old (PP and PSOE) against the new (Podemos and Cs) and the newest (Vox and Errejón) also against the new and aligned with the interests of the old. With such a hexapartite quarrel, the first thing you should do is not to trust any social gathering, starting with me, let alone any survey, all impotent and ephemeral like bar loves. The situation is strictly unpredictable, the Spaniards despise politicians only slightly less than journalists and the story full of noise and fury that means nothing has no end because only an idiot can write it, although among the propagandaists of Moncloa there is some Addicted to the farce convinced to be Shakespeare.

But as I hate the populist cackle of cowards who socialize guilt among all politicians, I will go by parts. Iglesias's story sells genuine left, recovers the epic of the defeat of the humiliated by the usual socialists and even incorporated at the last moment some showy turn as a reviewable temporary coalition. He did it, knowing that Sánchez would make fun of him, for the same reason that Rivera offered his abstention in exchange for marginalizing the ETA party, who happens to ask Sanchez to ask that. Iglesias and Rivera sought to start the campaign by undressing the arrogance of a vengeful character who understands power as the destruction of the adversary after purging the partner, the only reason he has forced 10-N. Vox goes to take off the last complexes - some remained! -, photograph yourself with Salvini and let it be what God wants, literally. Errejón goes from hospital to hospital and sensitive, come to me those who run away from the bellowing of the two alpha males. Casado has discovered the power of ellipsis, that silence that the good narrator manages, but cannot arrive in November without saying a word and the two that he pronounces the most, Spain Suma, sound like a bear hug, a bipartisan row closing, a clock stopped in 2015.

But Sánchez's is not a story anymore. The others may lie, but only Sanchez is a lie. The imposture itself solidified. He doesn't tell Ferreras a truth. He lies so much that he lies to camouflage a lie and then an unforeseen truth emerges, as when he acknowledged that he never wanted anything with Cs because in that case, adding 180, we would not repeat elections. Now he says he has stolen his victory in the offices. He will end up denouncing himself before the Prosecutor's Office.

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