In every city in the world there are dens where the light does not enter out of shame, like El Homgon. There, darkness envelops the trickery of the customers, the hands that grope the bodies and the filth that accumulates in the corners. A few years ago, my friend Mejuto and I came up with the idea that El Hormig n deserved to be more than the occasional and changing scenario of one of his stories, and that my inseparable Browning would fit...