A Manuel Díaz Martínez La anciana se mece en el sillón y escucha distraídamente el implacable tic tac del tiempo. Acostado sobre la tierra reseca el perro la mira, cómplice de las horas y la desidia. La madera emite un leve quejido como señal inconfundible del desamparo. Un hilo de color blanco la mantiene sentada
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