Today I was going to write about transport, any kind. Public, prívate. In fact not today, yesterday. But meh. I’m not in the mood, like Wainraich’s book, “I’m Tired of my self”. Well, maybe not tired… Sick. I can’t take the darkness down here anymore.
Last time I headed right to the oven, the gas was out. Lucky me, I guess. To talk a little bit about transport, I suppose that if I decide to take a walk on the railway… there’ll be a strike.
I can’t get a long ball… Shall it be that their all heading the first and second post and catched by the ones on the top? What I need is a low one
Y acá estoy
But, here I am…
Without a dog that barks. Pete must have like 7, one for each day. Once somebody appeared downhere, and my pupils finally contracted. But now there’s no funduscopy that matches it.
When Prometheus got to close to the sun, he got burned. But, is there something nicer than that heat? When you start to get burned it hurts. But I’ll get close to the fire each time to get cooked until brown.
I couldn’t get to the top, I had to get loose. It seems that someone must keep an eye on this place.
This one got really lost on translation. Sorry ‘bout that.