I hope that the lollipop nylon wrapper never sticks to you. I hope that the worms forgive us for the heresy of little hooks. I hope that god stops looking the other way. I hope that butterflies never disappear from certain eyes. I hope that Moreno forgives us our lack of dignity, our lack of courage, the water with which they put our little fires out. I hope that nobody trips over loose floor tiles. I hope that I will be there, wherever ‘there’ is. I hope that I will. I hope that action dreams are real actions and not dreams. I hope that Juaquinino will always be wandering around the skies of the world writing long live people for ever, that is, hurray, hurray, hurray. I hope that it will always be for everyone and we never lack it. I hope that Castelli’s tongue tells us what, that the Commander’s finger shows us how, that the General’s hands hold what remains of our bodies, that Chacho’s head will be ours, that Evita’s smile will always be your smile. I hope that we know what, that we find how, that with what remains of our bodies we can hold each other, that you smile and so, finally, the tongue goes back to its mouth, the finger to its hand, the hands to their arms, the head to its body and the smile to the millions of us who will be her. I hope that heat heats. I hope that the lot of sadness goes fuck itself. I hope that someone explains it sometime, because, alright, it happens, but what is love useful for? I hope that shiteaters eat shit. I hope that the lack of love stays in tango and bolero lyrics and does not mess with the poor people who lack love. I hope that there are always be little puddles to splash the neighbour lady. I hope that the guys from the shantytowns suspect that it is possible to live to old age. I hope that old people suspect the reason why there were once young. I hope that charcoal allows me to draw. I hope that my bicycle chain does not get loose. I hope that yours does get loose, but that I will be around to lend you mine. I hope that the wind gives us a hand with our kite. I hope that loves grow in Somalia and loves are fat, very fat, really fat. I hope that I never run out of swear words. I hope that you understand what I am talking about, I hope that you understand what I am looking at, what I am insisting on, why I am saying I hope. I hope that my grandmother smokes her three daily packets. I hope that the other one brings me the smell of colts. I hope that colts lend me their galloping legs. I hope that the Vasco, wherever he is failing to fulfil his death, is still a carousel man. I hope that, as I cannot resurrect the dead, I can keep them alive. I hope that dogs let themselves be tickled behind their ears. I hope that someday you deign to look at me. Or at least that Lobo1 becomes the champion. I hope that you have the best moon, the best earth, the best peace. (p. 7) 1 My football team.