"Work honors" this was said by the grandfather in many years. He, despite the opposition of his children, decided to leave at dawn one night earlier to the queue of the bank to collect his pension. He waited sixteen hours to get the equivalent of a mortadella. Sleeping on the sidewalk with cardboard and an old sheet.
He never worked so much and for less. He never felt worse. Life seems to have taken an inexplicable turn. Little he, understands what happens. Just as he voted for Carlos Andrés Pérez, he did it for Hugo Chávez, hoping for a government for the most marginalized. In these days of darkness, there was no doubt about what has been the greatest political misfortune that he has ever lived.
The grandfather in his youth made children he loves. He left his town to the city to work. In his adulthood he graduated them. With milk of beef and goat, corn, fororo, meat, and beans, trained professionals and men workers. Today your grandchildren do not want to study or work, only your option is to leave.
Grandpa is sad and cries secretly. He knows that his years are running out. It does not want to be a burden. That's why, quietly silent the absence of his pills. Grandpa wants someone to tell him what to do to get out of this agony. He wants to continue to bless his grandchildren in freedom, and receive their sweet hugs. Venezuela is your only exit.
Written by Jhon A. Romero.-