The post office is nearby, just 100, 200 meters from the lighthouse. I loaded paper, hopes in a timely manner, the stories I tell you while you sleep. Only fail me were rolled in a bottle, would be more appropriate, I think, would also more expensive, I think, more expensive, and the silliness, and spending as much money as I come and go and command and print and package of 500 sheets, please. Forgotten the bottle, then. I think.
A blonde woman, kind, sealed my papers, another woman with coins in a plastic bag question whether a payment is a month, the blonde, friendly "no year" tells what is "annual"? she says while making a knot in the plastic bag, dirty, kneaded, transparent. The blonde woman looks at me, smiling nervously "a once a year," said while lifting your index finger just behind the counter. The woman with the bag tightly and stored in a kind of bum, the laughs pitchers, as he walks "Oh, is that I do not understand," he says, laughing, as he sings. The blonde woman returns to the kindness and my papers and handed me the receipt.
Under the stairs, a young girl sitting with her baby, also her mother, grandmother. A boy, a man would say, in sweats, also with his mother pampers the child "Look how beautiful you are, with those blue eyes, you bring the girls crazy, but you do not pay attention to girls only your mother, huh? " The mother, it intervenes, "Go, go, go," he says, "you already have three." And then, looking at the other mother, the other grandmother "The last eight months, beautiful, pre-cio-sa" More than yours, much more, come come, come, home. That got me excited.
The man who sold the blind in the corner has a hollow eye covered by flesh. His teeth from the mouth closed.
sun is shining and Chet Baker delves into the back of my house. I hope you find the bread with cheese.
There are days in this city where I have fear of not returning to sleep and forget the names of things.
A blonde woman, kind, sealed my papers, another woman with coins in a plastic bag question whether a payment is a month, the blonde, friendly "no year" tells what is "annual"? she says while making a knot in the plastic bag, dirty, kneaded, transparent. The blonde woman looks at me, smiling nervously "a once a year," said while lifting your index finger just behind the counter. The woman with the bag tightly and stored in a kind of bum, the laughs pitchers, as he walks "Oh, is that I do not understand," he says, laughing, as he sings. The blonde woman returns to the kindness and my papers and handed me the receipt.
Under the stairs, a young girl sitting with her baby, also her mother, grandmother. A boy, a man would say, in sweats, also with his mother pampers the child "Look how beautiful you are, with those blue eyes, you bring the girls crazy, but you do not pay attention to girls only your mother, huh? " The mother, it intervenes, "Go, go, go," he says, "you already have three." And then, looking at the other mother, the other grandmother "The last eight months, beautiful, pre-cio-sa" More than yours, much more, come come, come, home. That got me excited.
The man who sold the blind in the corner has a hollow eye covered by flesh. His teeth from the mouth closed.
sun is shining and Chet Baker delves into the back of my house. I hope you find the bread with cheese.
There are days in this city where I have fear of not returning to sleep and forget the names of things.
