In the suburbs of Havana, called the friend my land or my blood. In Caracas, the friend is my friend or my key: corduroy, for baking, the source of good bread to the hunger of the soul, and keychain ... -key, key, 'says Mario Benedetti.
And I realize that when I lived in Buenos Aires, in times of terror, he had five foreign keys on your keychain, five keys, five houses, five friends who saved him the keys.
Eduardo Galeano
"The Book of Embraces"
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