Dindurra waiter 
number of texts I write, as my mother would fit in any anthology of the vulgar. Is to write things like that, full of expletives, the truth is that it does not make much sense. I'm a hopeless case. When loose, when I say I say fuck or shit, really no better term to express what I want. Say fuck or shit that has implications, not necessarily aesthetic, and as things go, must see, as you can imagine the price of a pussy said, well acted, well shaken in the face of so miserable ever venture with one of them but it's there, like nothing the convicted person until the eggs dirty or shameful indignity no balls.
For there to be decent, dammit. I speak not of canonical decencies, those who sell or smear apostles churches or fanatics of every variety. I mean, who open the door at dawn and go to the Colosseum, which is life, the daily battle to make the world more livable and more bearable, more cheerful, yes, more tender and less littered with crosses, happy and come back at dusk or in the dust, broken or the enlightened soul, but being themselves, with their heads held high, showing that there are certain issues, non-transferable and sacred matters that are not market, nor betray or allow the pigeon shit.
Damn, is. Missing men and women and people in a country that if we neglect is going to go to hell. Men and women to build present and future filled with the material we choose to put in such meanings. Because that is present and project future scratching their heads, cry a pussy to be born in the gut and finish giving face to face with the face of what we have cast aside many times and too many years: take our reins, pissed off when they do , then build a society according to what we dream. Pussy, pussy, pussy, nothing less.
To me, what can I say, decency is a word I like, and hell, as usual, I love it. Go together when threading destinations, provided that whoever does take in tow the array that each work requires, that of passion, perseverance, conviction, stubbornness to test ammunition. Must see, hell, there to see.
I do not know if it will be worse as time goes on, if we go into the abyss like cattle for slaughter or curb someday. The truth is that you live your routine and half putrid smells appear, symptoms of the disease this country is experiencing.
These days I found a wallet. Black, small, skin, and then ID, Visa and MasterCard, good amount of cash. Pasta importantly, tell a friend who would excite the clink of coins.
There, in the cafe I frequent to see life pass, smoking and reading snuff soundly without anyone being aware that I exist, a sign was aware of the matter: "lost wallet, black leather, not very large, gold closed . If found, please notify here. Good gratification. " I talked to Marcelo, the old clerk, talkative as anyone, friend to his friends and wine taster "because it is the best thing you can drink in this world."
-old, I have that book.
picked up the phone and at the end said that tomorrow, at this hour, the owner would there. She was tall, thin, older, a sweet old lady, well dressed. Marcelo was glad when I stood before her. I said hello and gave him back what he had found. When I called would get out, I noticed something surprising, stupefied or what not, "Young man, come on, I'll give you your reward."
You know things are bad, at this point no one will tell me how to play the cards here and there, but I confess I was sad, kind of like to check again what we already know from long ago: we're going backwards, all, that to build a country and to create a future you must change from a thousand different sides.
- My reward?, Madam, by God, just give something that is yours.
is everything. That's it. Should be, says Dr. Jeckyll me ear. The fact that anyone should reward one for returning anything, say hey, take it, lost it, I found it and here it is, it smells bad. If individual ethics is a reality of that caliber is the best, worst for those who think that way and act that way. But when collective ethics prowl similar conceptions, means that the tumor was no longer benign, and will have to invent something or do we take the devil without noticing. That Mrs.
could not believe it scares me. Do not be entered by any side so that your gift or reward or whatever to call it, is over, and that there is irrelevant, and that on account of what, and already, woman, leave the matter of that size and what's good about their roles and back the chip intact, frankly makes me turn now snuff and think about what little shit is going to be the country where until recently I assumed that my children could grow. Retrospect, I said to watch. At least write to you Descojonado. And I do. Each one carries his cross, his voice, his breeze of happiness or not, dude, but that to stifle the sense of wonder and accept twists because, well, are the times we live in, simply to send everything to hell. Not that one expects, as Penelope, sitting on a bench on the platform, to San Telmo we say, all right, all right, bastard, and the music sounds happy ending. No. You have to sweat and it is known, and should fuck in San Telmo, of course.
Other times, which meant my grandmother always gave me the impression of remoteness, of light and dark past filled with cobwebs and to hear her speak as a teenager. And she mentioned to people he never met, places I had never walked, and talked about integrity, honesty, courage, work, effort, dignity, things like that, and I was giving the impression that such comments brought with it a hint of signage, index finger on the universe were forged. Anyway.
Lady, thanks but no .- Then shook his hand and she kissed me. Left. Outside the world was still spinning.
number of texts I write, as my mother would fit in any anthology of the vulgar. Is to write things like that, full of expletives, the truth is that it does not make much sense. I'm a hopeless case. When loose, when I say I say fuck or shit, really no better term to express what I want. Say fuck or shit that has implications, not necessarily aesthetic, and as things go, must see, as you can imagine the price of a pussy said, well acted, well shaken in the face of so miserable ever venture with one of them but it's there, like nothing the convicted person until the eggs dirty or shameful indignity no balls. 
