When the last of those who had witnessed his show increasingly less incidentally, was gone, the old puppeteer, turned off the lights, picked up their puppets, and returned to their memories.-was almost a unexplained for him, that those figures that gave life, after so long, had begun to say words that he did not said or believed not to say-perhaps…but not determined with certainty since when had ceased to dominate the subtle movements of its puppets, to move to be handled, but was almost certain, it coincided with the time that began to feel surrounded by the cold, and today was so much… He looked a few logs at home, and I take a decision, looked for the vessel with fuel, threw the dolls at home, and then spraying them, he dropped the bowl to the floor-sat in his old chair, lit a cigarette, and while he threw the match to the home, he closed his eyes, he had decided from that point go the path of memories, and without judging, relive their successes and mistakes, as if you put life in a sensitive balance, as almost every human being at some point in their lives have done or we’ll do-I thought perhaps in childhood, or in his youth, perhaps, images are never clear, but a great jumble of life.-What strange and hidden place of our brain goes into activity in moments as well?. .Do and boy man gave way to man old, and with the right of age took that decision, perhaps by that rarely had it echo, by ignorance or cowardice never would think about it, what?, if anything would change if he had learned anything, it is that it is so difficult to change the course of one’s own, as to be able to change the world?…