You cannot avoid feeling that you don’t live in any city but in a field or forest, where there is to take care of some surprises of the environment, of a bull or Tiger. Because Yes, the power is that, a bull in the city, playing the red traffic light is a white attacked very viciously. It is not doubt, neither nor is surprised when he hears from the lips of a Lord mayor there, after jumping to avoid an onslaught, that this is a city of shit!. Continues its path, listening to resonate the sentence in his head, knowing that not come to the corner without hearing another popular outbreak that season theme: there is no Government in the city or country; and you will know, too, that identifies with the phase of political changes experienced by the country, that there is no way to refute such monumentality, of which only missing you feel the smell. Nor for hint open mouth; know it is true, there is no way neither decent nor political refute anything, and you know that you became the man most unworthy if crazy at the end, as every fan of wounded en carne propia step, he put to ask for patience to citizenship or to yourself so that they can withstand the roll, put to defend barbarism being almost run every day, or to argue (sophist finally!) that motorized agitation is one of the benefits of the process revolutionary, a fact that gives him more freedom and facilities to simple classes. To another dude with these bones! You are Dhaka, to say it once, and held when the President of the Republic allowed the motorized use motorways, because this claim to bourgeois of hoarding spaces and roads cracked, and because it violated the constitutional right of free transit to the citizen is enthused when Chinese companies filled directly with the country of cheap motorcycles (sold indiscriminately even those who didn’t even know riding a bike), because it cracked the inveterate monopoly of the IV Republic of only bargain with commercial actors always.