the sets are always the same.
on the streets, the lubolos with their drumming, mama vieja and the escobero, the escolas do samba, the vedettes, the revistas with their incomprehensible fooling around, gramilleros, cabezudos, clowns.
on the tablados, the parodistas with songs for entertainment and humoristas with their witless schoolyard joking. and the murgas. going from life to death on the stage, sharp tongued, rainbow dressed, a smile and a tear painted on their face.
sitting on the floor, watching the murga on the stage, boys and girls saying hello -- everyone knows each other, i went on holiday with him, she's the niece of my teacher, we met in a disco the other night... --, children slide down the sides of the velódromo on cardboard slides, the moon is hidden behind the first clouds of the temporal that's coming, soon, i know.
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