This rattle of the lost year, of the tragic parenthesis.
As if 2020 had not been an unforgettable year, the first that justified
the return of history to our lives
when the First Worlds had already separated us from being and time, condemning us to the periodic updating of our telephone applications.
A year that we can truly call historic without incurring the qualifying inflation of journalism. Of course we understand the desire to close it, to gobble it up with grapes and
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