had the need to crush the city, wander to force small discoveries that allow me to savor the unknown ingredient of which were made crusted streets, desolate, boiling of a tropical sun, so full of stories minimum that could perhaps be found.
How to find a trace buried in oblivion? How to find this nonsense that do not make me a sad archaeologist who imagine in science a great story? But every step brings me to new landfills, wrapped in very rare bug antennas anal mouth and teeth. Again the sun appalled that provides me more tired, it is useless, stumbling, find no more outlaws and melancholy of the revolution, it is not possible any love affair or new plans to attack that your damn quiet. Only you may sleep in the city.
Finder ruins, should justify that even to see them must have a high measure against presbyopia, but the truth is that an employee of the municipality does not need much to clean the filth and find a skull Pleistocene. May have come late to important events or maybe not these events are so promising, sort of like sending a trainee to an inhospitable area where he is believed to have sighted a mother ship, only to escape their presence. Perhaps it is my kind of a cosmonaut reporter, someone that has recycled stories magic concoction, cachivachero market of the invention in huge high-ceilinged rooms of the hospice where nothing ever happened.
Morning surprise me at the table in a bar, with arms folded above his forehead, looking directly at my broken ankle. React and then I review the frayed and stained pants suit me home, I pass the slow look of the old style Westers and concluded that all together gives me away: Filibuster, vagabond, confused, storyteller, search gold.
And to be happy I need to support my hopes on a metaphysical truth, then I lie religiously every morning with a divine truth.
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