“Executives in the financial area of Azca, in Madrid,” read the caption of this photo, which is curious because there is no way to distinguish the executives from their shadows. Maybe in the mornings, when the alarm clock rings, those men come out of bed already transformed into shadows. Maybe they shower under a trickle of black water and have a piece of burnt bread with dark butter for breakfast. They will then get into their ghost cars that will drive like ghosts to the dark basements of the Picasso Tower or any of those that surround it. In the elevator, they will look for themselves in the mirrors and will only see their own eclipse. It is possible that they receive part of their salary in black money, I don't know, but there is so much of that money circulating through the big offices in the big cities that it is not foolish to venture it. There is a wonderful novel, The Man Who Lost His Shadow, by Adelbert von Chamisso, in which a guy sells his to the devil convinced of making a great deal. He soon discovers that he can live without other things, but not without shade. It is possible that the devil possesses such a surplus of shadows that he has dedicated himself to the acquisition of bodies. Hence the image we have before our eyes. These executives, in whom their former body volume has become the shadow of their shadow, could be the metaphor of a society that lives in darkness and against which the only thing I can think of is to sing the old psalm: “Though through the valley of I will walk in shadows, I fear no evil because You accompany me.” The problem is finding that capital “You”.
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