Outside, the air sounded like bullets fired at the windows. In this area is normal, he told us we plump native rented the room. It was what we wanted, at least I, a quiet place with little movement. It was an ugly block, gray as an afternoon storm. There was nothing around, except for sand and a gas station with the times of Charleston. Personally, I do not need anything more. But you gave me the impression it is.
guess would always be something between you and me, creating a magnetic field that was blocking more and more our impulses. Were for me a little cold, and that he had just begun. But everything was different. That queue had been there ever twisted and embittered me now every time I looked.
Perhaps it is that the borders are as thin as strands of thread and your lips and the edge of a sheet and my patience. In that chair, with my cigarette half, could have sworn he had crossed the border and had been unable, despite their lack of thickness, to notice. Confirmation that I sat on a cloud since I saw you mourn, cry, sleep, cry again, dreaming of my dead cagarte, cry vengeance, back to sleep and finally enter a state of tranquility as fine as that border, as the seat, even for a few hours, put me over good and evil, burden and pressure. Above you.
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