read no one writes to the colonel and other stories.
"none of that 'speak to him in the morning,'" she insisted. "take the clock to him this minute. you put it on the counter and you tell him, 'alvaro, i've brought this clock for you to buy from me.' he'll understand immediately." the colonel felt ashamed. "it's like walking around with the holy sepulcher," he protested. "if they see me in the street with a showpiece like that, rafael escalona will put me into one of his songs."
"hide your cat, colonel. the boys will steal it to sell to the circus." the colonel was getting ready to follow the postmaster. "it's not a wild-animal show," he said. "it doesn't matter," the syrian replied. "the tightrope walkers eat cats so they won't break their bones."
"above all, i beg you not to argue with me." he patted him on the back and explained, "the doctor has forbidden me to get angry." ... "we have to make a lot of things to sell to the rich before they die," he was saying, blind drunk. "all of them are sick, and they're going to die. they're so screwed up they can't even get angry any more."
pride was an urge the same as thirst