I have a shirt that gets it done. All wars end up tanning on one, and my blue shirt supports bad, soles tropical rain with no apparent end, covering me like that. A shirt can be a companion while you kick aging roads and dragons face on the streets. So there shirts shirts, outrageous and shameless, or stubbornly heroic, like mine, as the blue at this point is a second skin, a grenade-proof armor and shells of every variety.
I bought at a discount of October, far, and there was blue as the Atlantic waiting on the shelf in that store. True, my old shirt makes the last turn, I discover in this, I am reminded that we are litter carried by the winds, but also that there is persistence, commitment, the forge of what is going to be. Anyone
puts and already out on the street, walking with his girlfriend, then throws the dirty laundry basket, as he has carried around a dress. And sometimes you reach that, but this dress ends up being the everyday life, drowning and leaving the lungs and shattered soul. Most opt \u200b\u200bfor getting into a straitjacket.
Any shirt that has a defined horizon respects, be a shirt from start to finish and show with you side by side. Mine, faded as it is bathed in a thousand sweating, winks at me every time he goes with me and live the adventure of liarme to blows with the circumstances. Knows of fighting, spears, how to bite the dust without a second thought many more times than I wish. So goes with decency and I know that at last, when the unbuttoned because I lost or won and then I go to the showers, I just squints and looks mean nothing, mate, this tiny balls the day that over.
shirts are no longer like this. I can see them on the road, in cafes and corridors, as drab procession of cotton, linen, patchwork covering bodies are only an ornament. My shirt, fortunately, is different: it knows its place in this life, and is anything but a beautiful piece, fresh or flashy. It's all, anything but that.
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