1984. It was a cold and cloudy afternoon. The common sights and sounds of the moving Corregidora Street by the National Palace, didn't distract his attention. He had the gaze set in a precise spot, who knows which; sporadically, his eyes moved though the horizon from one extreme to another. He was taking notes. The images he registered that day, no one will ever understand, neither the thoughts he wrote down. Picture by Rubén Pax |
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