Julian's dictionary

Julián (a fictional name for David Esquivel) is a guy from Santiago del Estero, but his accent makes him sound like he's from Córdoba. "In life, I was always good for nothing, but I worked very hard, and now I'm not just good; I'm excellent for nothing," is his introductory joke.

I enjoy talking to him, even though his vocabulary lacks at least five letters. It would be difficult to understand him if it weren't for his command of synonyms. "Chancho, puerco, cochino, lechón, o marrano," he replied when I said "cerdo" (pig). "It's because I'm the only person in the world who has read the dictionary from A to Z," he said, laughing, and I took a while to grasp his humor.

His level of conversation is extremely high; he's like a shepherd of words, knowing how to steer the conversation to his domain. We always talk about what he wants, and rarely does silence occur. On one of these occasions, I mentioned that the only thing I know about his land is a joke by Luis Landriscina that I never fully understood but always made me laugh. It's a one-liner: "You have to die from something," said a person from Santiago, grabbing a shovel.

He burst into laughter. "But how can you not understand it! We're so lazy that going to work is the worst thing that can happen to us," he explained, and I told him I wasn't sure. According to me, the joke is that he's going to dig his own grave, but he ignored me and said goodbye.

Last week, I went to the hardware store and took the opportunity to buy a shovel. I'll get to work at some point.