One Hundred Years of Solitude

Macondo. In the three
kitchens where José Arcadio
Segundo stopped before
reaching home they told him
the same thing. There werent
any dead. He went through
the small square by the
station and he saw the fritter
stands piled one on top of the
other and he could find no
trace of the massacre. The
streets were deserted under
the persistent rain and the
houses locked up with no