Lluny vol dir mai més

The monster under the bed asserts that he is wounded. The friend so far a year ago asserts that, until a year ago, they were friends and there were three of them. The cat asserts that the human species is execrable, marrameu, but that perhaps this particular human is different. The doorman, the beer seller, the teleoperator, the temporary ellipse, the wild boar's head, the madman with the leaves, the STOP signal, the autumn... In this city everyone speaks except him. He is lame and has a scarred face, and ran through the streets at night, looking for a deer with three white spots under his left eye and five spikes in each horn, like two hands begging in the sky. Why he is looking for him, no one knows, but today, a year ago from the upheaval that turned him upside down, he could be closer than ever to finding him. Through an army of voices and an overflowing imaginary, Marc Cerrudo Boada's first novel takes us on a twenty-four-hour urban journey, an infallible mirror of the tragicomedy of living in the city in full swing. 21st century.