Sentence 
In early 1973 I was a fool just graduated from a small town school that fell to the city of Rosario with the lofty goal of "starting college." Son and grandson of relatively successful professional in Argentina innocent era (50's and 60) had no choice: either reached a degree or died in exile. There was nothing for me. I remember
could have chosen medicine and law, which made almost everyone. Could also have chosen between Psychology and Architecture if you wanted to sweep mines. But no. The very asshole of me got into Engineering Electronics: "The Race of the Future." Tomá shit, who gave birth. What did you think? What I am idiot? No sir! Electronic Engineer and I will kiss my feet in a few years when the future land around here.
Classes began at the same time that Uncle Campora assumed the presidency. Not necessary to describe the university environment of those days. Anyone with two neurons together you can imagine. As a curious added that the Engineering Student Center was led by the Communist Youth Federation! Yes, the FJC. What a piece of old shit! Almost sounds like a D'Arienzo tango. Fuck. The President Centro de Estudiantes era un barbudo con anteojos de marco negro gruesos que vestía pulóveres negros sobre camiseta de frisa blanca. Portaba un olor a chivo francés que perforaba las pituitarias. Todo un arquetipo de la época.
Pasaron los primeros días de clase: Ciento treinta alumnos por aula, todos fumando cigarrillos negros, un solo profe hablando para los quince nabos de la primera a fila y un caos total en el resto del salón componían el paisaje.
Cada quince minutos entraba un barbudo para invitarnos a levantarnos de la clase y marchar contra no sé que mierda y que Perón y que Evita y que la Cuba de Castro y que el Imperialismo y que los esperamos a todos en nuestro local partidiaro y así continuaba la cosa until six in the evening when I returned to my pension in each kiosk wondering if the magazine had reached Hair.
remember that in the same month of 1973 I discovered "The Dark Side of the Moon" by Pink Floyd, "Houses of the Hollys" by Led Zeppelin, "Islands" by King Crimson and a little later, "Close to the Edge "by Yes. I bought them all. I bought one after the other in the record store near Córdoba Mitre ROM. The world seemed to explode in creativity and I never hit me the way to cover it. And the monthly payment was not enough to pay my old discs and eat. That is not eating. He weighed 59 kilos and I fell pants. Lobsang Rampa was reading and I autosujestionaba convincing me that I was not hungry. When I returned to my old house, on weekends, I swallowed half refrigerator without opening it.
During one of the first days of June (more or less) of the 1973 I heard about the proximity of a part of the subject "Technical Drawing I". The date fell Friday and 20:30 hours.
Well, I thought. I will have to be a Friday night performing a partial rather than return to dance to my people as he always did. Is the cost of pretending to be a successful professional (then not think so ... actually thought the asshole that I looked young tits and hard to riveting twice Friday without caring if she enjoyed or not ... I did not know that the women had then.)
The fucking chance, leaving the power saw from the windows of 218, one attached to a wall poster announcing a concert Rabid Fish. I got out of bondi, stepped back two blocks and I reread it. Yes! Rabid Fish in Rosario fuck! At the Teatro Real de Salta and Oroño fuck! At the same time as Friday's part of "Technical Drawing I" fuck!
recontramil Hell and hell and said to mother that bore him! What bad milk! I think my brain cells took three milliseconds in the decision: I went to Rabid Fish and missed the part. That moment is a turning point. A black hole in the life of this asshole. A brief summary of my wandering and miserable fate can be guessed from the observation of that fact.
the Teatro Real was up your ass. My legs were trembling. I could not believe the fact of seeing a dense Spinetta playing the viola and dragged Fish. Lebón robed, Black Amaya hidden behind the drums and shelling by tapping Cutaia intellectual matter. Nobody danced. Each in his chair merely marking time with his feet.
Upon leaving the theater the cane marks to some kids and took them in case. I did not know. Will be on my face asshole thought ... I do not know.
What I do know is that still, from time to time, I put a CD Fish: Nena Boba, Post Crucifixion, I like the Tagus, Cris Blues. I hear the Sunday morning while I drink a wine slowly. My daughters look at me with pity or worship. I do not know.
Too many things I do not know. For example I do not know what the hell I studied Electronic Engineering. These tests still hurt marathon of Electromagnetic Theory and Maxwell's Equations and Systems of Partial Differential Equations and the bare shell reputísima ... what asshole I was.
That's right. I've been consistent throughout my life. I'm still an asshole.
