Once upon a time there was a boy who had a dream. That dream had no narrator, not even a prologue and it seemed like an incomplete story. One day, in that dream, characters that he did not know appeared to him and he wrote down everything they told him. In time, he promised himself that he would write his own story through his words, without fear, without snakes to lull him, or sandman to cover my eyes. He created a thousand sketches to help him find the way out of that labyrinth in which he was lost. He looked for a thousand and one premises to sculpt the best of the auctions for his story; taking photos and drawing, portraying the people who were on the road and photographing the landscapes on their yellow tile path. That child was me … That child was me …