Human hands.

Let me tell you something, here between you and me. I was the other day sitting on that old sad barbed wire fence, thinking about your cat’s gray hair over my black coat and the last call to come out the stage… I wasn’t pretty sure about those fictional names from fictional lives, just because maybe they are not real, and I still haven't found a name for your table. I keep myself watching the wheels instead the map, that way I won’t get lost. So I cough, I choke, I laugh and think: I hope you catch my disease.

Escrito en la libreta de rayones, sin mucha luz