El pequeño circo de la pobreza

A melancholy procession parades, from the depths of nowhere, with the unstoppable desire to become visible in a world accustomed to ignore. Step by step, footprint by footprint, suitcase by suitcase; carrying everything they have. The little that has not been taken away yet. It marks the passage a man with the terrestrial globe on his shoulders, is not Atlas. It is one of those creatures that predators have burdened with the weight of a world without mercy. The procession grows in its path nourished by beings who think that this is their place. The vacuum marks its mark. With nothing in their hands, lost, disoriented, with broken dignity.