PAMPLONA is the city of echoes. There is no sound like noise that does what is not seen. Yesterday I looked for the trail of the hooves through the empty Post Office, like a dowser who witches to see if he can find the other joules. The paving is a sounding board through which one can hear, in an archeology of fears, the turmoil that the city does not now have . Perhaps visitors are not aware of what it means to be registered in Pamplona, ​​which is like joining the army or being a secondary in a western . Nobody in their right mind would want to live in a city that walls the shops located at a specific postal number seven tomorrow

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