30 junho 2013
She wondered with her beer through the street. She loved how dirty it was and she didn't mind walking barefoot; as matter the fact she love it with all her heart. She loved how dirty and ramshackle the roads were.
It was her father in her, she suspected. An insane boy catching every breath life could give. But her father had lived it deeper and more vividly, hadn't he? He'd taken the drugs and run all the races. He had grown up in a better age for radicalism. And more that that, she knew, when it came to self destruction, her father hadn't been faking it. He had died alone of a drug overdose in his closed up room at Gran's hause.