Four young English women were looking out on a balcony of the University Round, in Barcelona. They had a good time, laughed and threw kisses. One of them had a huge inflatable phallus between her legs. Extracted from the context, located elsewhere or at least at another time, those girls would not have surprised anyone: a procaz bachelorette party, drunk clubbers from Ibiza, a balcony from Pamplona on chupinazo day ...

But it was half past one in the morning of Saturday in Barcelona. Not only did some sporadic detonations still sound on Pelayo Street. It is that, if a camera had opened the plane from the girls to show where they really were, with their plastic cock and their vulgar kisses, what would have appeared is a devastating image of devastation between Urquinaona and the University square .

While the smog formed by the smoke of the barricades floated - some extinguished, others still sizzling - there were sidewalks destroyed with shovels to turn them into ammunition against the Police, there were pots and traffic signs thrown on the barricades, there were pods of the gas bombs and rubber balls, there were abandoned diving goggles, backpacks, flags. There were places, such as the Urquinaona square, the center of the battle, where the carpet of rubble completely covered the asphalt.

The English threw kisses and said " yuju " while, under their balcony, sad people inspected the destruction and pocketed war souvenirs . All of Barcelona was the remains of a shipwreck newly deposited by the tide on a beach. At times, the silence was strange, almost melancholic, for those who brought the sounds fresh - screams, sirens, detonations, stones against the sheet of a van - produced by the great battle that began in Layetana and that in Urquinaona square and its Adjacent streets reached warlike proportions.

In the heat of that neighborhood, the balconies did not serve to sustain phallic English: some were apostaderos to blind the police while guarding their position with the green light of a laser. There are images that look like a cliché of war movie, images that are offered to us among the orange tear gas cloud that covers everything.

After clearing Urquinaona in the final cargo, he rushed a row of 12 column vans besieged by rockets that entered them from the flanks, and that fragmented the independence front into guerrilla cells, while the IPU policemen rested and distributed new ammunition , one took off his helmet and showed the mark of an impact to another, who touched his head and laughed for his good luck.

The fire makes us tribal, prompts dancing around him. At the beginning of the battle, the biggest bonfire I saw during this week of fires rose in Layetana. It would have been said that the activists with their face covered around them, so many that mobile phones ceased to function as in the stadiums, they were about to dance war dances. Zulu Dawn Those who came as a couple gave each other love picks, such was shared excitement, the storehouse of heroic memories for when time turned them into a bourgeois marriage. The front line chungos asked for passage and went down to the barricade. There, the thin blue line looked tiny compared to that gigantic mass that seemed to devour it. The uniforms were dirty with impacts. These men seemed to be giving a practical course on Spengler's most famous phrase. There it was, the platoon.

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