I write in Spanish because my brain is fried. Wow. We were walking through the Dehesa and Riki told me why I was reading something I didn't understand. And the truth is there are many reasons but the coolest one is that I rescued this book after a night of a wilder after-party than the pigeons because I met a guy who blew my mind. And I wrote a story in which he embodied passive nihilism and I the active one and in which I accused him of having a beautiful soul in the Hegelian sense and then I told him something like you don't militate, you are an abstraction of a rebel, which is what Sartre said to Camus for writing unsmokable metaphysical tricks and anti-communist ones. This book is a wonder that it's more fun to have read than to read. A faithful defender of intellectuality but you go too far, Camus, and I suspect your rigor, surely there was no one who could stand you