A town. A summer night. Unbearable heat and a soft drink drunk on the balcony, in a futile attempt to suck from the night its last breath of coolness, before a new day arrives.

He died in front of my eyes. He stretched out in silence and exhaled life, fatigue and heat.

At daybreak, the dogs visited him first. But when they sensed death they ran away.

The people were only concerned about making him disappear so that he children would not see him when they took him away. And everything was clean again as before. Without a trace of drama.

The poem, lovely and miserable like its protagonists, was ready to be read.

When we children start to play in the street, under my balcony death would still be smelt.

Pere Formiguera