wrong, contingencies beyond
was unhappy, he knew his mother "... and no worse feeling in an unhappy that hurts your whore mother" - told me one night of drunkenness absolute peak holding a broken bottle while I was trying to rescue his lost tranquility. Perhaps the bullet that months later, half embedded in the skull has to do with the index finger of his mother.
I met in a flamenco bar, played guitar completely confused, then one answered about her outfit, a shirt soiled with dirt and on the neck was wrapped a red ribbon which sought to mimic a tie. After his performance, he settled in a corner of the bar, was almost imperceptible if it were not the bar which was packed with people playing outrageous, was why that caught my attention. That same day I first saw it, I came to recognize the passion with which he gave his flamenco guitar. It did not do so because the first two sentences he interrupted me abruptly "if a beer is better you can go to my room at this moment" said.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
12 Dpo With A Yeast Infection
not want to get into misunderstandings and you busted my fist against his immense nose, a couple of hours sitting in the gutter, in front of that bar us hand cuddled respectfully.
Since childhood I was curious to marginal lives, I cursed my luck to have a family "normal" , because my father change diapers and clean my mother's nose or I wait for hot food. Did not want them dead but quite far, but you know, all the like religion is like a perpetual state of dissatisfaction for a hot prayers of hope, something like winning the jackpot without buying a lottery . However for Paco was reason enough to be called unhappy, not because they had a mother like mine, but because he hated mothers like yours, for someone who knows something about emotions, it will seem absurd to hate her mother, but that winter afternoon satin, leaden as purgatory, the way to the bar I knew something of the feeling of mother. Paquita
met in the bar that his son was a beautiful woman no one appeared to be mother, raven hair and starched suit, slipped by him with overwhelming elegance board flamenco. I never imagined that it was the mother of Paco, but it sure loaded with such certainty, I also discovered that never agreed on that bar, or that either had seen them together, I knew well that he professed to hate her for being gay and he by being a prostitute. When I met Paco and I asked him how he did so, she evaded me.
After what Paco never saw her, sometimes I think it was the same person, I sometimes think that if you sink it near my esophagus trigger kill her.
Since childhood I was curious to marginal lives, I cursed my luck to have a family "normal" , because my father change diapers and clean my mother's nose or I wait for hot food. Did not want them dead but quite far, but you know, all the like religion is like a perpetual state of dissatisfaction for a hot prayers of hope, something like winning the jackpot without buying a lottery . However for Paco was reason enough to be called unhappy, not because they had a mother like mine, but because he hated mothers like yours, for someone who knows something about emotions, it will seem absurd to hate her mother, but that winter afternoon satin, leaden as purgatory, the way to the bar I knew something of the feeling of mother. Paquita
met in the bar that his son was a beautiful woman no one appeared to be mother, raven hair and starched suit, slipped by him with overwhelming elegance board flamenco. I never imagined that it was the mother of Paco, but it sure loaded with such certainty, I also discovered that never agreed on that bar, or that either had seen them together, I knew well that he professed to hate her for being gay and he by being a prostitute. When I met Paco and I asked him how he did so, she evaded me.
After what Paco never saw her, sometimes I think it was the same person, I sometimes think that if you sink it near my esophagus trigger kill her.
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