Road to my past, I have climbed in that old car to take me to that amalgam of memories, simple routine, nothing special, at least not today. I preferred to see through the window, I hate to see through the window with your head supported by the transparent sheet, with your eyes laconic and lost.
the other side of the window and on the move detainees in the station is off, the lights are distorted and travel through a tunnel as an endless shell runs in few minutes an unlimited world, galloping giraffes and rhinos huge caterpillars turn into fireflies announce the first season, then I go back inside and that another world is hardly bleak narrow much punishment does not fit a stock market point of sardines out and a bottle of oil drops that drop heavy list to slide.
When you ride in a wagon and have no more output to continue, you stop in daily travelers in their haste in December are consuming vast stores of colors, can not stand the stores are color should be gray and deep windows dark to see only find your reflection cold face and an empty body. Should seize your clothes and a gang of boys dissidents the windows painted black.
As I imagining this trip so much I wonder why you can not smoke in the cars? Why you no longer feel no woman next to me smelling of sex between the legs? and so I stopped so much speculation, why do we spend our lives in one go and return continuum? And why not stop this car and I already low at any station in the middle of the shell, the end of this tunnel?. However
have begun to cowboy movies on wagons, the children run around the corridors Desfundando fingers pistols, submachine arms ; the nagging mothers, nearly all are overweight and pregnant, the more attractive girl dreams of that baby in her womb, if only someone would hurt.
It's almost my station, after a few minutes this will all be gone.
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