Lump Growth On Toddlers Throat

Droppie (XI parte)

After that stressful day was followed by a completely sleepless night.
The boy was turned over in bed until dawn. As soon as he could distinguish the shapes of the houses had got up, went into the kitchen and had prepared a nice strong coffee that kept him awake for the rest of the day that was supposed to go to the library. The thesis was to deliver by the end of the week. The rapporteur had given the ultimatum, and could not afford further delay, otherwise the degree of slip at the next session, six months later. The boy had bought in January, the trip to New York and would not give up anything in the world for his trip and fly-drive in the land of freedom. He wanted to visit the Village and the Stonewall, where it all began. Then Miami, San Francisco and Los Angeles. He had already contacted friends via the Internet and had arranged everything. He stayed with friends and friends of friends in every city and a few days in a hostel in the city where he supports or in the intermediate stages between a location to the next. At the bottom was an adventure trip and how he was wrong. It was not the first time traveling alone and knew exactly how to stop it. He was sure it would be fun and that this would be an experience to tell his grandchildren, so to speak.

mocha took the old grandmother, one of six coffee cups and remembered how Catherine had a ritual for women. He ran the tap and filled the base of the machine half a finger over the valve, as he had taught her. Then we put the filter, turned everything to remove excess water and loaded the coffee. He made a pretty decent Montagnella and crushed with a spoon. Eventually we made two or three holes with a toothpick in the center so that water could rise and easily tighten up the coffee maker. He turned on the heat to low, lifted the lid of the pot and put us over the spoon to
mo 'to Drop guard.
While waiting for the coffee ascended, he saw the pen. It was one of those snap-transparent, with the little woman who strips when you put it upside down to write. Only instead of the little woman was a man dressed as a miniature cowboy, with a large Pisellone hidden under the jeans overalls. "Billy" was written. The boy had received this gadget to open a gay disco in Rome. Billy rolled over in his hands for a while, 'and then began to write on the back of the paper where he had pinned a list of expenditure.

"He was here waiting for me, your pen. Another thing I will remember you for life. I knew how much this weighs regained single life. The party, the free pass, the furtive glances, the first approach, condoms and everything else. It seems a century since we were together. I think as I watch the withered plants on my windowsill. They appear here on purpose to remind me how fragile life. Everything passes, everything changes. And we try in vain to bring order to chaos.
Through the railings of the balcony I see a group of guys returning on foot from some club and I wonder which of us is a prisoner. The real prison
is the couple that after a thousand nights spent clinging to one another crunching any passion, or that this madhouse at night leaves the world of dreams to chase other premises in the dark?
more time passes the more you remember you as sweet as the flesh of an orange. Under the skin hardened by anger and resentment from seeking the good of you that still exist. Your kind gestures, your kind words, your caring thoughts. I try to understand what happened yet. I wanted to feel important to someone. Irreplaceable. Unbeatable. What a fool. I think I can help change your life and instead I ended up changing mine. Forever. Fondling the night like a cat I had my your nightmares, your fears untold, of your obsessions. Up to inexorably become possessed.
The other day a black cat crossed my path, lightning-fast and silent as the thought of you. Gave me a quick glance through the vertical slot of its pupils. He left the same light I saw you under the strobe flashing in his eyes in the damn club. Beautiful eyes and the damned.

Damn me and my presumption. Yes, I'm conceited, narcissistic, ambitious, deluded. I am sad and alone. But I am alive. I'm here to kiss new dawn on misty glass of my kitchen. There are love and love to live by write. "