The mussel

  If you were a mussel, What would you do?
 Luis Buñuel

Man, I never raised the possibility of such an entity, such mollusc. So far I had only eat mussels without entering their existential dilemmas, regardless of the vicissitudes of these black gentlemen resting on the seabed eating seafood soup.
It must be interesting to live in those waters caressing, permanently attached to your favorite rock-detached, or at least make a jump with the momentum of your Balbos up a few feet away, but not too. Rest hoping the tastiest morsels are made available from your mouth as you contemplate the beauty of underwater life, as through a magnifying glass. And always be safe, or so you think, because when it comes one of those lunatics you lie enormous jaws black hood over and wait for him to leave with a fresh wind, or fresh water in this case.
And how will the rest of the world?
Surely more wild and dangerous the deeper. In continuous struggle for survival, the next moment may be the last. I would like to know the full extent of its beauty and animal misery, but until a trip organized oferten me to let me visit him without danger will remain so comfortable in my shell.
You just have to see how I look these octopuses sunfish obscene and those that come from who knows where, with his silver tongue and seductive swings. Sure that they are looking for prey to devour.
I in my shell, I close when trying to annoy me, and at peace. Living smoothly even in a ghetto, but never get to know anything.
He dedicated this dissertation mejillónica to Western society in general, opulent and idle, he feels a deep solidarity, which has time and money to care for the disadvantaged, but not stomach or nerves to endure them.
And me, of course.