I entered without knowing it into a house of cards and folds of coincidences and affinities, where there was a man who paints whom I mistook for a porteño with the same name; an architect with the surname of another (the latter illustrious and good and called like me, anonymous and good the former), a very big boy with a precious name of a Hungarian king and a stage designer who is not very theatrical, being "the one with the true image".
I entered a house of names in Magalhaes Street: a man who lost his name because in school they explained it together with another one (the street above it) and together it was too long.
All of them are beautiful names with which to create a history of Poble-Sec: Diego, José Luis, Laszlo, Verónica, Fernando and Juan Sebastián.
