sábado, 27 de marzo de 2010


We opened our eyes to alarm clocks glaring silently at us.

Late again.

The blinking red lights tell the story of a blackout, time watches us without mercy.


This morning, we are as fucked up as we'll ever be. We will walk to the bus stop, side by side, holding books and knicknacks and hoping our hands will never touch.

We will not fight.

We will be perfect.

Right now, however, we are late.

The red numbers blink.

And we wake up.

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