Is it possible to live without a good newsagent? Maybe, but not surely die. A newsagent, a good newsagent, gives you good morning and in his voice, you feel you have gone another twenty-four hours. Get older every day of your hand and, from the ease with which you sold the day's news, we understand that nothing (earthquakes, bombs, breakdowns and decrees) does not matter if you can go another day to deposit a coin in front his eyes taking you to change a bunch of papers. The papers, letters, worth nothing. It's greeting of life and faith that the exchange means. This has been my life in relationship with newsagents, with good newsagents, from the first newspaper I bought at twelve years, Naguanagua. Sunday handed it to me, whom they called "The Turk." From the first Saturday began to give me news of themselves. I gave a bolivar, he gave me El Nacional and, last but not least, told me that he had once been head of the mayor of Valencia. I was with him at least ten years. Then came Leonardo, in Barcelona: the son of Italian and born in Cantabria, spoke with a southern accent, southern South America. "Is that my family has interests in Argentina." He was very supportive and, when he learned of my literary pretensions, attempted to introduce as a writer at a publishing house alone all day, I was ahead in the purchase of El Pais. Salerno, Italy, Ciro remember that I greeted with a cry every time I passed in front of his kiosk in Via Arce, buys and not La Repubblica. Then, when we returned to Caracas: Anastasia, an old black and huge that I was selling old newspapers and tries to propose that as an option each time I found out that Giuliana had returned to Italy. Back in Spain, Reyes, in the city of science: friendly and compelling to the point of slipping Complete Library of Psychoanalysis. Now I have Isidro, General Hospital of Castellón. Ironic and dysthymic every time I ask how it responds almost without moving his lips: "Evil." "Good" is the response you expect and sometimes I give it. Isidro is fat, hairy and bearded. He speaks little, but I know that knows about music, literature, politics and, crucially, of skepticism, that it is a mixture of knowledge, political party and religion. When he saw me overwhelmed for a guard, has been paid by the newspaper but not the chocolate bar: "It's a gift, so that better." That is not far from the limit of their generosity. The other day I learned that a mutual friend, orthopedic scrupulous, will allow the transfer without pay for new books rotating rack. The orthopedic surgeon reads spotless and pristine back five days. "You too can take you, if you promise to take care of." I do not know if you accept it, because sometimes reading some liquid escapes me, but I think. If finally accepted, here I swear, the term acuñaré isidriano and in his honor, in honor of Isidro, upload a post: "In Praise of Isidro, newsagent in my hospital."
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