almost five. We are ready to boot. At the door. With mascara. Heels. It is Friday fortnight payment Friday, Friday fashion ... Red lips. Lace underwear. A cocktail before us. Dinner. A movie. A motel.
The days of holding the wallet, stay home, not out ... today do not count. What went up the gas? No matter. What touches Monday payment? Tomorrow I think about it. What family, peers, loneliness, anxiety, anger, pain, sorrow? Not today, because today is Friday.
And half play Friday at five o'clock and we all in a flock ticos. The streets are filled with cars (because now I can afford!, Why ride a bus?) With ghosts dressed up looking for a bar, a space, one night.
At two o'clock, drunk, return to our homes. A quick pass to expect the next fortnight ... Because we only live to forget.
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