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When I was little, we found a man. He looked like - like, butchered. The old women in the village crossed themselves, and whispered crazy things, strange things. "El diablo cazador de hombres". Only in the hottest years this happens. And this year, it grows hot. We begin finding our men. We found them sometimes without their skin... and sometimes much, much worst. "El que hace trofeos de los hombres" means "the demon who makes trophies of men".
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"When the Know-Nothings get control, it will read 'all men are created equal, except negroes, and foreigners, and Catholics.' When it comes to this I should prefer emigrating to some country where they make no pretense of loving liberty – to Russia, for instance, where despotism can be taken pure, and without the base alloy of hypocrisy.”--Abraham Lincoln
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