No, this is not my story, it is the story of a wall that decided to choose me as a witness to what it says and does.... The wall gave me all my qualities and titles from the beginning of the journey, in the camp, on the sidelines of the city, in the prison, and in the heart of a woman or on its outskirts.I am the voice of this wall and so he decided to speak....I wrote adhering to what he dictated to me and according to laws that belonged to him alone... I wrote without linguistic treatments, except for those that the wall suffered from and insisted on changing, and I wrote because reading in a time of scarcity had become a cowardly act.
