Complete text: In 1947, Pablo Alarcón, a shopkeeper who was in charge of the gas station, promised himself he would rest more than what his thin and fragile body needed. He devoted himself to satisfying vague speculations and pointless analysis in his spare time. He chose the hours for the contemplation of long clouds which he could barely see in moon less nights or in steely evenings because of the traces of steam in the heat of the sun. He used to observe a spot as if he was looking at a nonexistent shape, or a shape belated to the point of boredom, as if he was touching and not really   touching something in the memories of a dream.