Throat Ulcers Headaches

The woman at the table stopped

was beautiful and dark, wearing a short skirt, black blouse and buttoned up which cause minimum makes theirs.
On the coffee table, late at night, Lucy walk on her high heels and comes and goes walking around, as if to say look you give me yours and here's mine. Once seated, he asked me fire, and then spoke of the night, the daily hassles and asked what I did. Miro
spend my life, I replied. He crossed his legs and continued talking. Lucia, twenty-six, was a girl of nine and since the house was thrown out of Hell met translated into day to day. Life is a sack of cats, but we always manage to make our history. I dreamed of linking the type of life, sooner than later, and now, because living is an art and culture required for that temple, guts in place. I ordered two beers, and the third round smoked Lucia relaxed while I listened concerned, as if we were friends for years.
She chose to do what he did, "a great honor, pussy, sweet voice and recited a poem by Carlos Ossa, who talked of whores and sex and night as a darkroom invented just for certain pleasures that half of humanity , swore, he died without having suspected. I said handsome, "I can ask for another?, And I said that two, also one for me.
extended his long thin arm, as a piece of Lladro, and took the tiny purse she had left on the table. He opened it, pulled out a crimson lipstick, a tiny mirror and a dog-eared book. Come on, open it, page forty-two. I ran my eyes and fumbled three or four lines. Loud and beautiful, what's wrong?, I am also here. I did, I discovered the voice of a Russian poet referring to crotch, thighs, sweating and panting. It was long, filled with that tone, that rate you can find when you crush a literary work. After I looked up and saw her eyes wet, his face lit up and saw the poem and Lucia moved me to the core. Let me read another, and read another. More beer Lucia? Yes, if you insist.
If you come then, if you come by here I'll bring some of the mine, he said. He was writing his book, he had everything planned. Come on, tell me a little, let me hear one of those, I said. He did and I enjoyed his words, I enjoyed the word of the woman who recited from memory. I thanked him for the gesture, I thanked the favor, I thanked him giving me the privilege. Nothing, handsome, next time let's talk film. Then he lit another cigarette and asked for the last beer.