pale, wintry light rain after pacing with the wind in off the streets and predicts that the next few days will be spectral. Since I see some old bar with faltering steps, carrying briefcases Augusti, and carrying their last belongings to a next destination and set: just a few blocks, only a few months. Around me, the activity slowly reborn, only in the worst season possible. The team left out of the world, and yet we are not in this, we were not immune. We have shed more than the claim to the title: we have removed the excuse for our immobility. As jellyfish sucked unexpected water flow, lead us to a sea wave unwanted outside. With one tug sailed to our destination. We will no longer be given the quiet miracle of procastinación.
ship mails, we coffee, we have meetings. But everything is artificial. Not us we move, is the fluid that surrounds us. If you do not mean an effort needs would make public that all theories the ether are, somehow, true. And when you press that send this post to that other medium that is the Web, my index is not the actor, not my will, the author behind the curtain. Be a mere tentacle stirred under vacuum which causes this World Cup, then vacuum, and the winter road, and the contemplation of the old.
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