In the morning, in the neighborhood, we could hear Mr. Salvador anointing the walls of his reed house with cannons of insults: ?you wretch, you slut, you filth? And in the background you could also hear a small pool of tears streaming down his wife's face. And in the midst of these tears, the wife raised her sword: ?wretched is your mother who doesn't even know your father?

After the insults, after the accusations, the reed walls shook, the pool of tears had a wind of screams, and then we saw Mr. Salvador's wife appearing with a stone of ice pressed against her face, I suppose it was to cool the hot tears she had, and demanded property sharing.

They had no assets, but started with sharing. The couple began to dispute their son, an asthmatic boy who walked around with his chest up to get the air. And in the middle of the dispute, the boy would raise his lungs higher and higher as if he wanted to fly over the whole mess. The wife stayed with the boy. And finally they began to dispute the only inheritance they had: an oil lamp with a half broken glass.

Three months later, they didn't dispute the asthmatic boy when he died of cholera: the neighborhood made contributions and buried the boy. And wherever he is, I'm sure, he still has his lungs up and makes faces like a drowning man when he breathes. The torn clothes of the neighborhood children, the little shoes without soles, the socks with worn-out elastics, the broken toys, and the expired juices: all these were going to the trash, because the asthmatic had already died.

After the dispute over property, after the separation, a new dispute began in the neighborhood: the dispute over the food scraps that we left in plastic garbage bags at the doors of our houses.

They disputed the leftovers we sent to our graves with an impressive dignity. Even if you are not alive, because God is with me," the lady used to say when she crossed paths with her former husband in our backyards disputing over food scraps. And to this day I wonder if God takes pleasure in being with someone who lives on leftovers!

It was a couple that ate what was left over from our burps, our tables, and what we didn't give to the dogs because it was bad for them. Once, I don't forget this one, the couple argued outside my parents' house. And, because they had advanced knowledge of sharing property, the husband said: "from now on, you will keep the garbage from the houses downstairs: here in this area, it's all mine.