I am here, locked in my room while heavy drop of rain hit my window and Northern Downpour sound speakers in my laptop on my lap. I woke up half an hour ago and I was very nervous about how strong he has come to rain. And I think of memories, memories that came yesterday to my head and those who have come today. I think in 1999, one of the strangest year of my life.
1999. Was 7. In January I had my party Dinosaurs in the park near my home, I used that horrendous February butterfly costume carnival that I earned the nickname more est &n the kitchen and bathroom. We take all the clothes we could and went to the Sheraton marina where a boat took us to the port of La Guaira and then we went in the back of a pickup to the bridge of Catia in Caracas. People saw us with pity, all dirty and muddy clothes dry. On the subway we saw with that look and let us go free. I remember we took the train to Fine Arts, took some of the debit card and ate at Arturo's and then a return to the metro, go to Plaza Venezuela and then take the train from the third line to the flag where we paid a taxi to Maracay and finish that awful exodus. While shooting forwhere this issue is likely to remain in pages (or entries) full sheets coming from advertising. Scantily clad girls wrapped in gold organza promoting a perfume. A face retouched in photoshop promoting a new line of makeup. A thin model in a dress that looked like a second skin, promoting a fashion house. Distract the eye, and the next page will get something very different and unrelated to what came before. No matter, it is normal to feel lost that feeling soon disappears. Life will go on and soon I will write another summary of other very odd years of my
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