Damascus Villa

Damascus Villa,It's a weird town,with only one seat,where it always rained,of its four fronts,in one is the church,tiny and blue,where the priest,take the confessions,that by being deaf,nobody understands,but still, everyone blesses.In another, the town hall,a lavish house,with a balcony facing the street,in which the mayor,he was holding beer in his hand,as a luxury spectator,to see the demonstrations,that every day had against him.Another of its fronts,It is occupied by the museum,that was no more,than a neighbor's house,owner of a stamp,from a letter from his grandparents,of the previous century,that he exhibited as his only work,and from which all the people,I visited on Saturdays to see it.And the fourth front,the official brothel,owned by twins,Ivonne and Mariel,who officiate as madamas,and also of prostitutes,for lack of budget.And around,the rest of the town,proud of their customs,of his people, of his life,to know who is who,and although it's hard to understand,despite its austerity,nobody thinks of ever leaving.