"Put them in the store of potatoes," he said, and bury them under a pile of potatoes.
"Do not be sucker, click Spaniard," I said, here are called fries.
"Well, I better mother - retorted the belt, when he should speak in Mexico - bury it under the potatoes and prick.
Let me introduce myself, my name is ...
How can they be called?
... Ignacio, and as will be clear, I am dedicated to disappears from corpses. Well, now that I think need not be clear.
Gabriel Zaid said that Mexico's literary life is possible without writing a single line, attending cocktails snake colleagues. So go out shortly. It is the first time I have both at the same time. I continue with the story.
called The Spaniard Gerardo Lamas. Click name. We tell the Ticas. Or the mobs. Always at their backs.
The fact is that we were in the midst of a chambita midnight. A bomberazo, who also have. The guy was Judah and had angered someone. Crackling and then gave us we had to pass the buck. Literally.
All writers are full of rituals at the time of writing. I like to do on a laptop. If I have a near zero coca, the better.
In this business (Have you noticed how people filled the mouth saying "in the business" when they go to say something about the crappy job they do?) there are categories. In the basement there are those who encobijan bodies. The slag, of course.
More arribita come pozole. Do not think that there is only one. Are legion, the bastards. But I'm scared or burned with acid soda.
And of course there are those who fanned the bodies to the sausage factory or chilorio. Never buy chilorio of Sinaloa. Never buy chilorio. Do not go out a fingernail of a hitman.
The fact is that the Lamas and I pride ourselves in being artists. Aristocrats of the disappearance of bodies. Something like extreme installers. Does not sound bitchen little?
I like that in Berlin or Los Angeles and I should have exhibited in various galleries and cult figures would be. As Paul McCarthy, or the Witkin that. But no, we were born in Nacolandia. Well, I, the Lamas was Gijón. Click grocer.
But was not that bad. Every time we tried to surprise the customer. Once got a whole family that broke a cartel hit men in a car Constance got into a scrap metal shredder. I wanted to put the piece something like sardines, like the Radiohead song. Lamas suggested Rhapsody in Blue because the car was blue. What a dude.
The client earned mother.
It lasts the life of an artist.
now experimenting with sustainable and organic materials. Like Potatoes. The idea was to bury it in a potato warehouse and the rats would realize the luncheon.
But as always, do not have the complications of the case. The guy was pretty big load and when Lamas was re-dude. No way to refuse. It was that or leave the body right there.
And you have a reputation to maintain.
hardly write music. I found I make more mistakes with the distraction. The problem is that it is a bit boring.
already choked me, any ideas?
In order for this piece thought drizzle of ketchup, making an ironic comment on society and junk food consumption. But it was a fight loaded with fifteen gallons of catsup to lucieran, so I threw it out.
Total, barely enough to cover the luncheon with a few potatoes. Have you tried to load one hundred kilos of potatoes at a time? And leave it there.
We went to dinner at the department of Lamas, who lives near Viaduct and Tlalpan.
- Do you want an omelette? He asked, solicitous.
I do not know, dude, like you do not fancy me. I do not know why.
"Besides, I thought," here called popes, click gachupín sucker. "
Finale
Thank race.
Thank you all for coming. Sorry. See you next time!!
On Monday 
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