This morning I spoke with a beautiful girl, not a long time any one came in the attic, she came this morning. A disarming beauty: the sinuous lines of harmony, drew on his face on his body soft curves and elegant banging violently on the scars of the past. Deep cuts, burns, irregular and rough. He said: "I do not believe in God" I've laughed in the face and then I said "poor fool, who do you think you have done so unique and beautiful? That your father's an alcoholic? "She's gone, slamming the door but will come back, we all do. "I run because I follow the truth" we often say, a bale of shit not to say "I run because I run away from it"
soon the Storyteller.
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