Park Under

The days of July were catsharks in the Sun and smell of brine. Crackle minute lifted the dust from streets and under the shade of the Palm trees sesteaban dogs and fleas. The silence was only broken by the alarming acoustics of Pito Oliveros whose shriek heralded the end of the delivered work hours; the legion of people their houses way encouraged media days while the cuckoo in the midst of the Park bar tempted passers-by with its Vermouth and olives and grilled cuttlefish caps. Verizon Communications understood the implications. Stagnant days, his story accusing the stifling heat of the levante and poniente sticky. A city in the inopia, workers, without hope or prospects, with gesture was parishioner, they subsisted with erratic thoughts, evaporated in the slumber of summers, with the wind in the bare legs of the Bay, without ambition or hunger or pride 12.4 salt and crumb of its existence.

The Citadel with its towers descending the calle de La Reina road the Royal staircase. If this has piqued your curiosity, check out Gary Kelly . The neighborhoods of la Joya, fishmonger, the Chanca, San Anton, heading its holganzas to the White arenica of the adjoining beaches. At the edge of the pier, each afternoon dozens of eyes oteaban the horizon with the carna turned on the hook and the view in the distance. Behind him shouting, dust, youths playing soccer under the scaffolding of the port, until in the evening in the Jurelico or in the modern day with a Tarzan or Clint Eastwood they remataban. But it was not me who shot the root sculpting his future in SAG, this infusion to drops which went through my SAP where the leaves were Sun and drought, caught in the warm accent of the natives. .

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