Every night grabs his chair and dressed in a spotless white plays his flute. Relax, do not look at anyone and with clear foot sock has rhythm of notes almost nonexistent. The beard from seeing if she smiles, is there, oblivious to the screams, the stench of garbage, the pickers who labor in whatever they can get the mc Donals to us that every day I look.
are Mari and Albert, her Italian, he's here but also parents tetanus. Live on their quiosquito filled sandwich cookies, chocolates and infinite number of candy which I can not give a name. His dream is to know its origins, save money to travel to Europe someday. They are a normal family, that every day I explain where to buy meat and make fun of my English expressions. Are legal and give me confidence.
we went with loud music and went to turn her head I saw him. Like that scene from The Sixth Sense in which to look out the window the protagonist saw the girl staring bicycle stand. He could not have more than ten years, was dirty and put my hand in the car. The mixture of feelings is present, you get scared, I feel sorry for are just kids with more street ... anyone, and sometimes drugged.
A family, blonde grandmother, mother, blonde, blonde daughters, Father Brown. All brand dresses, girls seemed to outputs of a clothing catalog. The mother, haughty, impatient and makes a face tells her husband with a glance. I thought you were English. Then I heard about, Argentina, but as if the English would hover. So speak here without bony, but with a potato in your mouth. Limited partnership were to pick up his English passport, and his gait of money left the scene.
seemed Peru, Bolivia. Not understand the talk, had dirty hands grabbing potatoes and vegetables. Seemed helpless and bored of being in that place. Four times he tried to deceive. Putting the rotten potatoes in the bag, the lettuce that nobody wants, the broken carbon stock in exchange for money. Asshole.
Welcome to Buenos Aires.
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