the verge of the year is over we are tired. These last two weeks until dawn on Friday are as a constant. Is a holiday, is a holiday, it is holiday ... The work to hell. Politics in the trash. The gaps ... do not exist. Our memory is shrinking and begins on the first Friday of Friend Secret and ends at the Top of Palmares. Further, there is nothing to discuss.
walked the streets, the confetti metiéndosenos in the mouth and on the necklines, we hit the screens with windows as May beetles against the glass we wanting to buy and buy and buy and buy ... The slope of January is a myth and will come in 2007 to think about other things, other problems, other dead. In those dead who carry on their backs, but we hide in the closet for little will not see them. We
drunk and eggnog and Christmas tamales. But what we bring a hangover?
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