One Hundred Years of Solitude

was again what it had been
earlier, in the days when the
Arabs with slippers and rings
in their ears were going about
the world swapping
knickknacks for macaws and
had found in Macondo a good
bend in the road where they
could find respite from their
age-old lot as wanderers.
Having crossed through to the
other side of the rain. the
merchandise in the booths
was falling apart, the cloths