Caricatures by Luis Benitez They are found wherever there is an emptiness. The solitary seats do not dispirit them. They lie in wait for each century. They are, in fact, the ones who push time towards us now and then in the stillness of a photograph where four or five men talk about butterflies one or two of them visibly concealed in the eternal eventide of all Sun-days. But how persuaded they feel of being what other creatures are. “Like the dead when they feign to be asleep.” Something whispers to them from the dust inaudible, intangible. They play a role these creatures who have become caricatures of themselves like the small twig ignorant of its being a tree. Bound to perpetuate such an arbitrary trend of events it is perhaps to them and only them to whom we owe the placid rotation of the world. Luis Benitez Argentina >> Staff Author <<