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My Poncho Is Not Bulletproof, My Shungo Is.
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«No one knows exactly what the limits of this country are. But perhaps it is this horizon of ponchos that reddens at the end of the summer. Perhaps the indigenous is a country and is the only one that thinks of everyone. Maybe they only love us as we will never know how to love anyone, that is why they came to give us to fight, to give us to ask (never a gerund had so much blood), to give us to die« Miguel Ángel Zambrano Orejuela Two helicopters…
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