This weekend I succumbed to the night and wandered the streets in these ambiguous times when you mix a drunkard and a riser (Sabina dixit). I've been observing the environment, the "two-pronged sad takes for us to analyze the behavior of normal owls, to try to decipher the magnetism that draws us to the dark (more than one rather the darkroom) . There is a barrier
time at dawn in which the environment / atmosphere begins to vampirizarte. Everything becomes the scene of a Lynch film. They breathe and savor the superficial cliches to break the ice. The ice is broken and the drip intentions (it could have chosen another verb perhaps less grotesque, but no). Claims pinganillo porters, camels friendly young men to spare your life playing behind his eighties glasses "modern" without glass. Eyes appear hollow project and received two more cups. We hear the laughter rising in the scratchy throat and a deep boredom hide vital. Laugh to be convinced that they are having fun so we can repeat so banal experience the day after the weekend after the next ... Hunters enter the scene at night, sensuality feigned to feed the ego and alter your state of intoxication. Relations are triggered based on lack. Increase the queues at the toilets of those awaiting a dose of momentum to nowhere, some ahead, others behind. Call a friend to anyone who invites us to another "pitch." We share free compliments that suddenly we are all willing to believe. Anesthetized neurons are displacing to the rhythm of famous DJs Spotify.
begins a desperate search for eyes that pierced you, something that is not difficult in this environment. Fears designer dresses walk worried about leaving the room to see. Hostages of themselves acting alleged freedom. Arrows impacting the hollow where there should be a heart. Hugs not touch us, words that do not reach us, without ever sliding eyes to focus. Psychic hysteria invade the dance floor. Your partner is your soul mate bar and the bartender has all the answers, as well as being tremendous. Another rum and Coca-Cola that you do not know anything. Leave that already paid me. Disguised existential crisis atmosphere. Resisting lungs causing excessive anxiety and the smell of fart that has replaced the smell of snuff. Shots willing to insatiable customers, both at the bar in the darkroom. Clouding the view, the languages \u200b\u200bare locked, the balance is lost on the way to the service, but no matter, because more than one volunteer to help you urinate.
How well are going through. Pupils of cocaine peck the remains of the evening. All waiting for something to happen, to turn a gust of wind our way to somewhere. Sunrise, and fur turn gray in the light of day. Vampires flee their homes. Blinds cast until the sun is again. Start the hangover that punishes our bodies, we hit on the head, bursts in stomach and climbs slowly through the dry throats. Last night did not happen, it was not. But tonight, yes. This is the night. And so life goes shot into the void, until we discover that no one will rescue us from our own inertia. The night promises, but fails.
time at dawn in which the environment / atmosphere begins to vampirizarte. Everything becomes the scene of a Lynch film. They breathe and savor the superficial cliches to break the ice. The ice is broken and the drip intentions (it could have chosen another verb perhaps less grotesque, but no). Claims pinganillo porters, camels friendly young men to spare your life playing behind his eighties glasses "modern" without glass. Eyes appear hollow project and received two more cups. We hear the laughter rising in the scratchy throat and a deep boredom hide vital. Laugh to be convinced that they are having fun so we can repeat so banal experience the day after the weekend after the next ... Hunters enter the scene at night, sensuality feigned to feed the ego and alter your state of intoxication. Relations are triggered based on lack. Increase the queues at the toilets of those awaiting a dose of momentum to nowhere, some ahead, others behind. Call a friend to anyone who invites us to another "pitch." We share free compliments that suddenly we are all willing to believe. Anesthetized neurons are displacing to the rhythm of famous DJs Spotify.
begins a desperate search for eyes that pierced you, something that is not difficult in this environment. Fears designer dresses walk worried about leaving the room to see. Hostages of themselves acting alleged freedom. Arrows impacting the hollow where there should be a heart. Hugs not touch us, words that do not reach us, without ever sliding eyes to focus. Psychic hysteria invade the dance floor. Your partner is your soul mate bar and the bartender has all the answers, as well as being tremendous. Another rum and Coca-Cola that you do not know anything. Leave that already paid me. Disguised existential crisis atmosphere. Resisting lungs causing excessive anxiety and the smell of fart that has replaced the smell of snuff. Shots willing to insatiable customers, both at the bar in the darkroom. Clouding the view, the languages \u200b\u200bare locked, the balance is lost on the way to the service, but no matter, because more than one volunteer to help you urinate.
How well are going through. Pupils of cocaine peck the remains of the evening. All waiting for something to happen, to turn a gust of wind our way to somewhere. Sunrise, and fur turn gray in the light of day. Vampires flee their homes. Blinds cast until the sun is again. Start the hangover that punishes our bodies, we hit on the head, bursts in stomach and climbs slowly through the dry throats. Last night did not happen, it was not. But tonight, yes. This is the night. And so life goes shot into the void, until we discover that no one will rescue us from our own inertia. The night promises, but fails.
Adapted from "Night" by Barbara Alpuente.
Ocnebius
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