The window reveals trivial stories. They all are. A bullet, a knife, a little cocaine on the floor, as usual. And yet the players change. For your house, steal, friends tell me the occasion. Yes, I answer, but not me because thieves are my neighbors. The same is dangerous, she added with an air of discomfort.
I remember my window of my room, where I see everything and even the smell spicy pot comes with strength. I know I will not kiss her, I just remain silent, let time do its work. Where the hell did she live? Probably on another planet. We left the bar, she horonda and flirty, I put an excuse, I say goodbye. She heads to her car, has refused to accompany him, and that several children and youngsters with intentions will start to circle is no longer my problem. I'm a damn, I know. Way.
Juan Secaira
Ecuador
