There are books that emanate a scent, and it is extraordinary that this happens from the first lines: "My mother's gypsy dress lurks dark on top of the closet". In this Vozdevieja, of Elisa Victoria, the miracle happens. From the first page we anticipate a universe that seduces us. It is similar to a love at first sight and there is no reason to distrust this surrender, but to give oneself in the most innocent way possible. The aroma of this story is that of the suffocating summers of Seville, a mixture of the orange blossom that sprouts even in the most hostile corner and of the domestic smells typical of neighborhoods on the periphery where the sun falls hot on the bare streets and deserted at the time of the siesta. We are in the summer of '92, in that year in which only the spoilers were rebelling against the overwhelming celebration of waste, triumphalism, washing the face of cities that did not change the neighborhoods. To Expo tourists came from all over Spain, but also from Seville itself, from that physical and sentimental periphery that is the territory in which the characters of this book move.