About 5 days or more came from Venezuela. I have not changed the time on my clock Venezuela. Yesterday at the pool a lady me asked what time it was and I made a sign saying that the clock did not work. She thought it was that I could not tell time on this language and I asked to see the clock did not need to talk. Came with your hips immeasurable, its sea of \u200b\u200bfolds and rolls, making a tsunami in the quiet blue of the pool. It came to me ready to twist my arm and watch the time on my watch. Lady - I said this clock is in another country. He stopped and she stopped the waters, the other mothers who bathe their children, other children, my children. My dear - I said - why have not rescheduled yet? I stared and did not answer anything.
Why have not rescheduled yet?
For nostalgia, surely.
For nostalgia I like all the chocolates that supposedly brought gifts. I eat them hidden, not even share with my children. For nostalgia I swaddled tequeños cooking rice with chicken, arepitas anise, I'm softening to prepare a rice beer. For nostalgia clean the house and dusted off the old ornaments that I was about to throw in my last start minimalist. For nostalgia bath my children in punch bowls, with a pool a few meters from the house.
The neighbor is complaining that I had not seen since I left and spoke of nostalgia and jetlag.
In short: that nostalgia is worth me to commit this kind of abuse.
And nostalgia is also true for writing me so little and so badly.
leave this link if they want to read me or listen in better times:
The excellent project The superdemocráticos "
broken tiles, Panopticon zero, American Hips. The spectacular
blog "Four Stories":
silver guns.
And the best literary program of Venezuelan history can listen to my interview. Well "Listen" so to speak, because the truth is that I am novice in radio and talked all the time looking at my partners (two handsome!) And not the microphone (that was not anything cute!) Click to chemical.
I guess nostalgia is also an excuse to devote to self-aggrandizement.
Why have not rescheduled yet?
For nostalgia, surely.
For nostalgia I like all the chocolates that supposedly brought gifts. I eat them hidden, not even share with my children. For nostalgia I swaddled tequeños cooking rice with chicken, arepitas anise, I'm softening to prepare a rice beer. For nostalgia clean the house and dusted off the old ornaments that I was about to throw in my last start minimalist. For nostalgia bath my children in punch bowls, with a pool a few meters from the house.
The neighbor is complaining that I had not seen since I left and spoke of nostalgia and jetlag.
In short: that nostalgia is worth me to commit this kind of abuse.
And nostalgia is also true for writing me so little and so badly.
leave this link if they want to read me or listen in better times:
The excellent project The superdemocráticos "
broken tiles, Panopticon zero, American Hips. The spectacular
blog "Four Stories":
silver guns.
And the best literary program of Venezuelan history can listen to my interview. Well "Listen" so to speak, because the truth is that I am novice in radio and talked all the time looking at my partners (two handsome!) And not the microphone (that was not anything cute!) Click to chemical.
I guess nostalgia is also an excuse to devote to self-aggrandizement.
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