Julián Herrera sold his nights to a body-rental service: eight hours of manual labor performed by a stranger wearing his skin, a clean deposit every morning. Then one morning he woke up made of titanium, and someone else drank his coffee.
Julián Herrera llevaba dos vidas. De día, negociaba contratos en el piso cuarenta y dos de la Torre Meridian, con vista al cerro de Monserrate y un tinto siempre tibio sobre el escritorio. De noche, su cuerpo iba a los muelles.
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