Sometimes I dream of a predictable country, its roads without potholes and rather quiet, its buildings standing unscarred and its houses never burned down, where everyone has a number and no questions, and whose trees grow with botanical labels. I don’t want to live there.

In a city whose buildings stand unscarred, a person leaves because of restlessness or boredom. Such a person can decide one day to go far away to Patagonia, "the country