time to time, in a bar or space, on a long journey by bus or train, I sit next to someone who, after brief introductions, I was immersed in the story of his life . Stories without populated chronologically unusual adventures that surround the heroic always from a range of events. Is not life politicians, artists, or saints or millionaires is that of those who were actors incidental great events of history. The Boots is one of those characters. He appeared on the road to Oriol Roma when he was preparing his doctoral thesis in anthropology Drugs and subculture: a cultural history of the 'hash' in Barcelona (1960-1980). Roma pressed rec and boots walked his memory. Roma then ordered chronologically disjointed story, wrote an interesting preface and published. In the prologue introduces us to a subject Boots gear two seasons. The first, when marijuana was marginalized exclusivity, criminals and sailors, and then, when it became habitual drug for mainstream rebellion of the era, the hippies. Maybe the boots embody that guy gear, but in his story we are facing the life of a thief, something a lot of rogue trader and, as of the novels of the English Golden Age, but now key streets, with rubble and poverty of language grifota (stoner for the first time.)
The Boot says its trapicherías in prisons in Spain. It is a voluntary outcast, so alcoholic as grifota. His relationship with jipismo just tells us that he married a Swedish hippie with which traffic for a while and of course, this quote, the only description of the hippies into the story:
And give me a piece of chocolate pa to smoke. And I say I want to drink. And I say no, they do not drink. Well, milk, if he wanted milk ... and say, "No thanks, way of milk." And I say, "Oh, is that drinking is very bad, along with the drug." Sure, I know, which is very bad, but I took par. To me the same thing I like to smoke a banger drink me two bottles of wine ... Nothing to remove something else! But the hippies, no, no.
As the great picaresque novels, this story begins with children's boots and no end, or rather, the story stops suddenly, as if the recorder had stopped working, leaving the air feeling that rogueries excesses and the boots, cam voice sounding hit anecdotes, the story continues endlessly which registration is lost more glasses of wine and hashish.
A
open grave, Autobiography of a grifota . Oriol Roma, Editorial Anagram, 1986, 153 pp.
