improbable, the character has eluded the margins of a page in which Chekhov had a hotel room and disturbing rusty nail in the ceiling, and has walked more than three thousand miles and nearly forty years sit at the table in a bar in which the ghost of lecturing likely Miguel Espinosa. After hearing their troubles, while the Russian master nap before tackling the outcome of the story, the author Murcia sentence in its own way, with that stentorian voice of Greek risen:
"Look, my friend Dimitri, do not worry, he admits the truth Event, otherwise so common to the generality of mortals. Things as they are, not wanted to be. You know you frustrated because you recognize yourself unable to remedy your destination, why not just take the reins. I call frustration certain that, staying for having fewer years than you've already told you, you realize that the man you are today is not like in little or nothing to the man who dreamed of being. Hence, the torture, torment your genuine author has calculated for you and expecting you to turn the page, maybe tonight or tomorrow morning, because in fact there is no way to remedy your destination, the high word binds us to the gods. Dimitri
, crestfallen-term according to nineteenth-century taste of our language-translator, back to the story that gave him life.
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