My father slept. We said to your resting, that the march had been, once again, successful. Even with forces Sonora Street steps and down the slope of Niños Héroes. The sidewalks at this time are still hot. The night blackens the bay: this is what your eyes can see. Stores open at noon are censored by the taquerias and bars that light up the avenue. Low. His descent feels the outline of the district. Loneliness did not flinch. Like a cat quietly think about the progress of a few hours ago. Doomed to a lifetime job. Work is exiled to live when you can not find in him the breath of life. The place is a haven of sadness. Street failures. Screaming that do not hurt anyone. And the sun is too heavy as the years of walking. Think yet. Mourn also possible. Mourn at the port is still romantic, despite the killings and bags full of debris, the massacres continued. One day the bay could be emptied and would look him in the hole. Hollow beautiful. Traffic howl fast cars. Women walking in a hurry. Dogs sniff the trash. Sweat it runs, is relentless. What is this force me steps - imagine, with smiles and runs the voices of his children, his wife, his secret strength, so he moves.
0 comments:
Post a Comment