Next time.
Elena and I are going back to our pre-teen more time analyzing each signal from the destination with a large dose of imagination. Because we always believed in signs, and that has given us more of a headache when making decisions. No matter how many years pass: todes our conversations have that delicious touch of immaturity that makes us as girls skipping school.
Tomorrow is San Juan, and I have no decent plan, as Elena refuses to get drunk in the garden with me, safe from vultures and night pachanguera tunes. If this is not fixed in the next twenty-four hours, go to his Pepa looking for a movie to waste a tear to the most magical night of the year.
Sometimes I think that some things are too late, yes, I know that it's "too late" sounds horrible, and we're young and beautiful and there is time for everything. But sometimes there are circumstances when they have no rationale, and if we agree that a party with chico incredible four years after he left to like. Then you just smile and curse the injustice of the clock: if you had come a few years ago ...
I guess things happen when they happen, and what has to be will be, and all those stupid conformist we make up for not thinking too much.
Please, gentlemen of the company I worked for a couple of weeks ago: Pay me now so that, should reach the loneliness, boredom and extreme dissatisfaction, I can go to the movies and hide in the dark room. I need a maxi ration of unreality.
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