It was a beautiful day. Was again the end of the line 2 in a damp and clammy winter evening, the next round maybe could have done it on 5 or 13: no saliva for several days and, moreover, had nothing to do. He had never nothing to do. That evening, however, as he went down their eyes met by accident, she smiled and he felt happy for a second. The bus door closed heavily behind him, his eyes followed the skirt of her fast she was going. "I love you," he said, but his lips were glued and not even a puff of smoke came out.
Finally he chose the number 13, was not a good day.
PS: thanks Stuart Murdoch
0 comments:
Post a Comment