sexta-feira, 31 de julho de 2009

To Fabio

Fabio'd be smoking. Certainly he'd have had a coffee some minutes ago. He'd be looking firmly to me, speaking only in english, of course - not because he was my teacher, but because our secrets, well, those...only in english.

He'd cross and open his eyes. And his mouth'd move in a way that his teeth'd seem bigger than they accually are. He'd be fidgeting. And probably tired. And complaining about having to do the washing or going to the supermarket - and not having time to do so. He'd be pretty much the same.

Even in Alasca.

Miss you, buddy!

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