I was lying in my bed, belly down, elbows, watching the boys recover contribution from midnight off the rocks, porches, roofs of cars. Just two prepubescent girls in fur coats and knee creaking boots paratrooper by aristocratic, without worrying that they have been delivered across the province. Snowballs melting propelled in all directions, hitting most often their opinions and the two daughters of grain and hastily off, their shrill voices hanging in the air as deference to the warriors of winter.
I promised to spend my day with snow in the bed, playing with Holden Caufield Mint tea and drink, but after 30 minutes, I'm renovating, attentive. I found my gloves.

I like the way the snow covers the errors. Bundles up insecurities. Snow covers the floor and fill the cracks. Everything is related. The Diocese of the Virgin. In his immaculate behavior, everyone is covered stress of suffocation. Children sweating and overheating, radiators as stingy voice.Begging their mothers to let them take their hoods, their scarves, their sweaters. Mothers chain management tightening Tuck corners deeper. It is too over for this life. Rain and snow dump together as cousins. Dancing some incestuous antics, they settling on my cheeks, his hands, his hat. There are people that grow around the slush away from their door, with shovels and bags of red dummy strapped to their hands tied....
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