For me it was the suburbs always gray, like a factory wall, like a graffiti , commercial and industrial areas rose from the earth, weeds of the modern production and consumption, while that young hooded wandered near the dormitory towers dressed all cement. Tropic sad really. My
suburbs. It's cold and gray - it's winter - But everything seems familiar and cozy. In the RER, there are lots of normal people: adults, children, men and women who no doubt return home after a day's work. We watch the scenery as if it was going away, as if they fled the city, crowds, noise, one would feel almost on holiday if people do not wear the mask on their faces frozen in the daily fatigue. Intermunicipal bus then began his mad dash - some drivers are undoubtedly born Formula 1 drivers. Shaken and then ejected at my station, I get home through elementary school, thinking of my school when it is Ulysses. It started back up the street together. " Did you have a good day? " I tell him. On my keychain, a great key, similar to the apartment of my childhood. I introduce into the pistachio green iron gate, and here I am at home. In my . I put a disc, I crumpled sheets of paper that I laid in the fireplace, I put a log, strikes a match and sit on the African seat. The cat ran mewing, eager for hugs and fresh meatballs, life seems so intoxicating sweetness of ...
suburbs. It's cold and gray - it's winter - But everything seems familiar and cozy. In the RER, there are lots of normal people: adults, children, men and women who no doubt return home after a day's work. We watch the scenery as if it was going away, as if they fled the city, crowds, noise, one would feel almost on holiday if people do not wear the mask on their faces frozen in the daily fatigue. Intermunicipal bus then began his mad dash - some drivers are undoubtedly born Formula 1 drivers. Shaken and then ejected at my station, I get home through elementary school, thinking of my school when it is Ulysses. It started back up the street together. " Did you have a good day? " I tell him. On my keychain, a great key, similar to the apartment of my childhood. I introduce into the pistachio green iron gate, and here I am at home. In my . I put a disc, I crumpled sheets of paper that I laid in the fireplace, I put a log, strikes a match and sit on the African seat. The cat ran mewing, eager for hugs and fresh meatballs, life seems so intoxicating sweetness of ...
