One Hundred Years of Solitude

It was the end. In Pilar
Terneras tomb, among the
psalm and cheap whore
jewelry, the ruins of the past
would rot, the little that
remained after the wise
Catalonian had auctioned off
his bookstore and returned to
the Mediterranean village
where he had been born,
overcome by a yearning for a
lasting springtime. No one
could have foreseen his
decision. He had arrived in