violence again. i was celebrating my birthday at a friend's house, one block away from the congress building. all of us started feeling out of breath; our eyes were very irritated and bloodshot. i recognized the smell in the air: tear gas. we turned on the tv. an impromptu rally had gathered in front of the congress to denounce political corruption. protesters clashed with the police and they set fire to the congress lobby. the tear gas was coming through the apartment's windows. we closed the windows and placed some wet rags under doors and window panes to stop the gas. we couldn't get out of the building and we couldn't stay in the apartment. we went up to the roof. we put on wet towels on our faces to be able to breath. we could see the flames. it all happened a few hours ago, during my birthday party. when the crowd was dispersed and we could finally go out in the streets, we went to the congress and looked at the damage, the burned furniture, deserted black mounds in the middle of the boulevards.
a third currency will be issued next week. this currency will not be convertible into dollars and will devaluate daily. our dollar deposits will be returned in this new currency: monopoly money. we can't buy foreign currency so we can't leave the country. our credit cards are not accepted abroad. we can pay for plane tickets only in cash but -- surprise, surprise -- we don't have cash. the banks have our cash. the banks will not give us cash. a macabre carousel. i am a prisoner now. i am living in cuba, for all i know. i work hour after hour, day after day. my eyesight is going, my back burns with pain. all i get for my work is checks that i will deposit in my bank account and that will be turned into worthless pieces of paper next week. the bank holiday has gone on for more than a week now. i can't cash my checks. i can only work and get these little checks and look at them and see how my livelihood vanishes. it is a very perverse game. you work, you get the check, you deposit the check, you are a little poorer, you are a little closer to homelessness. then you go back to work. every new day that i can still be online is a miracle. when our money is finally converted into the new useless currency, most companies will leave the country. internet will be a memory. we will regress 30 years. inexorably, i too will disappear. i will be fenced in by poverty. i want to leave a record of these last days, not because i think that i deserve to be remembered but because i believe that telling my story until the last minute is a way of fighting. i will be engulfed by oblivion, it can't be helped. but i will talking to you when i go. wally
