HIGHWAY

A poor cronopio is driving along in his automobile. He comes to an intersection, the brakes fail, and he smashes into another car. A traffic policeman a approaches, terribly, and pulls out a little book with a blue cover.
- Don’t you know how to drive? the cop shouts.
The cronopio looks at him for a moment and then asks:
- Who are you?
The cop remains grim and immovable, but glances down at his uniform, as though to convince himself that there’s been no mistake.
- Whaddya mean, who am I?
- I see a traffic policeman’s uniform, explains the cronopio, very miserable. - You are inside the uniform, but the uniform doesn’t tell me who you are.
The policeman raises his hand to give him a hit, but then he has the little book in one hand and the pencil in the other, in such a way that he doesn’t hit the cronopio, but goes to the front of the automobile to take down the license-plate number. The cronopio is very miserable and regrets having gotten into the accident because now they will continue asking him questions and he will not be able to answer them, not knowing who is doing the asking, and among strangers there can be no understanding.