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right path to self-destruction. And the best way to avert this danger is the absence of courage, at times supplemented by pure incompetence. In order to bless the actions of martyrs and condemn those of traitors or the weak, the gregarious spirit has created such a bizarre concept as honour. But reason draws a different conclusion, preferring to absolve anyone acting out of astuteness or necessity to celebrating a show-off’s mindless exploits
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    Thales of Miletus (or was it Emmanuel from Königsberg-Kaliningrad?) used to say that there is no worse wisdom than premature learning, since this leads to the most terrible ignorance later on. Much to my chagrin, I found out the truth of this ingenious aphorism through my own experience. And I hope that up in the Olympus Zeus is giving the author exactly what he deserves for being right until his ass drops off.
    Now I could give you the fact, or facts, in whatever order they come out, but for a bit more variety and a bit less work, I’m going to copy a document. This has two advantages: immediacy, since it was written on the night following the events to which it refers; and intensity, since I was still idiotically moved when I wrote it.
    The document reads as follows:

    And now, the question: What have I done to waste my life like this? How, of all the possible lives I could have lived, have I ended up living a life made up of nothing but shit and tunnels that don’t lead anywhere? A few hours ago I was sitting on a bench in the Retiro park rediscovering these two unanswered questions (or just one, who cares). If I’ve been carrying them around with me for years without being the least bit upset by them, it can only be because I’ve been carefully mulling over them like a pious old woman fingering her rosary, without knowing why. Today I’ve decided to face them head-on. And they’ve caused me such disgust and sadness that I don’t know how I’ve managed not to dash my brains out against the floor of the inner courtyard for the edification of all the retards who live in my apartment building
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    Well, yes, I do know why I haven’t done it. Although it pains me to admit it, that is the reason why I have switched on the computer and started to write this confession. The sudden outburst that has led me to face the two damned unanswered questions is also what has kept my skull in one piece
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    At the start, nobody would have said that something was going to happen. I’d spent a couple of hours waiting in my car parked opposite the house where the smart-ass slut lives and my mind was already churning up ideas. At exactly six o’clock, the garage’s automatic door opens, and Sonsoles’ convertible emerges, with her at the wheel. Just as she was a couple of days ago, looking down on everything and everyone, barricaded behind those enormous sunglasses that make her look like a cross between a weasel and an astronaut. I pull out without much enthusiasm and take up position in her wake. My cousin’s car, which I’ve borrowed while they perform plastic surgery on mine, is somewhat short on horse power and I have to put my foot down. Sonsoles drives like a taxi driver, that is, surviving half on her luck, half on the careful driving skills of other drivers and at times demonstrating a mastery at the wheel she could stuff up whatever part of her anatomy she finds most convenient. In order not to lose her, I have to play some dirty tricks on a few innocent drivers, which pisses me off and makes me want to dump her under a UVA lamp and leave her there slowly roasting for ten or twelve days
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    Fortunately, the journey is short. Sonsoles leaves her car double parked, while she walks to the entrance of a posh girls’ school. A single mother? Inconceivable, given the availability of both abortion and the sacrament of penitence at the same time
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    I position myself where I can see the school entrance but am least in the way and I wait. Ten minutes go by. Girls in blue and white