In many Catalan Assistance Centers (it's not clear what type) professionals (from numerous branches, but they're not trees) encounter quite a few cases that raise questions. Infection? Disease? Plague? Endemic? Mutation? Lobotomy? Yeah, why aren't more and more Catalans from outside the territory going to Barcelona?
Let's see, step by step. As the chicken said, knowing what he was talking about, we shouldn't confuse smoke with roast beef. Therefore, if they feather the beast (legs, thigh, breast...) we might find ourselves: we don't want to go to Barcelona; we can't come to Barcelona; we don't want to-we can be in Barcelona... Multiple combinations, permutations, variations, and combinations of rum and sulfuric acid, which still multiply to infinity, which have made the number pi resign. Why? Huh? Puff! All-you-can-eat buffet. Choose: prices for apartments, rooms, sofas, tiled developments; tourists crayfish, meatballs, pig's trotters, in the pan, on the grill, in the casserole; the dictatorship of the expats; the other immigrants who lack a noble title; the robberies, the violence, the incivility, the poverty, the air, noise, digestive, and neuronal pollution; the lack of parks with semi-natural, phosphorescent green thyme; the traffic frozen with no supply; the shit as just another district; the lack of future, past, and present, Dr. No…; the I-don't-understand-you-speak-to-me-in-Spanish! Catalan? Satan! Nazis, fascists, terrorists! And there are surely millions of causes, motives, reasons, and more. But this is the chicken.
The head over there and the body over there. And the trail of blood (dis)connects. A quartered chicken. Never before had such a brutal, animal decapitation been seen between one part of Catalonia and another. Between Barcelona and the rest of the country. The pickled disconnection is rich and full. First it was mental, now it's physical. Why? For that reason, for many things, for many years, but, really? Yes? Yes, many no longer need to go to Barcelona. It can no longer offer them anything. It's no longer needed. Nothing comes to Barcelona. The maps of the real Catalonia tell us so. Let's see. First, the regional students who no longer have the wet dream of going to study in Barcelona that lasted for forty good years: they prefer campuses like UDL-Igualada, Vic, Sebastopol de Dalt, or Martinique DF. Second, the return (my generation of seventy-eight), who either suffocate or seek freedom from the county prison professionally, personally, or dreamily. Third, the atomic formula that changes the most: the 2-3-4-3. This tactic is practiced mostly by couples: base camp in the town-city (so they buy or rent the apartment-house, take children to school, shop in the stores, etc.), one of them spends 2-3 days in Barcelona for work, the other in the town-city, and they live together for 3-4 days in the atom. Energy. All this is done by natives. Add the immigration that turns the sock of professions inside out (painters, carpenters, plumbers, etc.). Add the Barcelonans who are expelled, and the breaded chicken is delivered to your door. Because it's not necessary. And this is how it is and will become even more rapidly: this is the synchrotron.
By the way, where is Cobi? In the kennel-residence-detoxification center that isn't in Barcelona. He can no longer afford it and he's an immigrant in his city. If in 1992 Barcelona wins the world but loses Catalonia, now he doesn't care about anything. Like a junkie, he needs methadone and every scrap he can find to survive. Can there be glue, rubber, glue, Loctite? Yes, but it's no longer in Barcelona.
