La Rábida that twenty years ago was an old middle-class residential zone, an old neighborhood now converted into a red-light district teeming with bars and seedy brothels. My brother and El Negroid were in good shape, happy, with their bellies filled with beer and talking recklessly, both at the same time, and not hearing each other, as though each wanted to demonstrate to himself and to me something about his audacity and virility. But I hardly paid attention, Moya, only realizing that in every phrase they included the word cerote, said Vega. Never have I seen people with more excrement in their mouths than in this country, Moya, not in vain is cerote the most repeated word in their language, they don’t have any other word in their mouths; their vocabulary is limited to this word cerote and its derivatives: ceretísimo, cerotear, cerotada. It’s incredible, Moya, when you look at it from a distance, this word designating a piece of excrement, it’s vulgar and revolting, signifying a piece of human excrement that’s expelled all at once, this most vile word, signifying