domingo, abril 24
There was Steve calling in the darkness of this darkie rainy night. I try to do some yoga. I wear some transparent glasses. You died my hair. You smoke. The shaver is not on its place. Somebody cooks, somebody brought something. There are still some cactus and pinapples on the fridge. Do you remember that girl we met that told us she went to study some cinematographic stuff to Cuba? I make some shit to my nails. I give some kickbacks. I jump and move the hips. I need a Bertoia. I really love your Acapulco. I love the way you drink the beer and tell me the way you like coffee. Dumbbells, ten one arm, ten the other. Three times. I do it for you Nadine. Wish you were here, with a trumpet and your pet petting me. Zouk & amp; Sega talk and other rythms all along the hot morning. Somebody in the rear back smells a t-shirt. I pick my stuff and I go out of this 50's, 60's 70's 80's and so on style, while on the 90's and after that apocalyptic world everything is very virtual as a refreshening glass of this Malbec wine. So purpple. So deep as a puma style. I take the bus and on the way I read some old messages in an old QWERTY cellphone. I try to remember, four years ago. An injured leg and the smell of cups of tea. I do my stuff. I do my gambling.