Port like August was a quiet sea. Shrouded by fog, in a sticky mass of night, resembled an old piece of furniture covered with sheets. Here, time never stops, he simply has always stood in the place, unmoved and immune to dust settling on everything passing. He closed with a bang the door Fiat at a time when the building behind the Master flowed echo sound engine deregulated last bus departing the city. Only the weak side smagnięcia waves in boats, drifting helplessly, filled the twilight. Street lantern on a long ribbon stretching along the waterfront power plant did not include in its monthly plan, so the darkness lit up only the blue lights flashing from the roofs of police cars, animating the space in millisecond intervals. He forgot how piercingly cold wind could be this time of year. It was raining. All the way blankly listening to the monotonous pounding of rain on roof of the car, trying to overcome the drowsiness caused by monotony. Posts coat collar. Burgundu was in color, although it did not now any difference. Not everything has to be logical - thought odsalutowując the fuck to some kid from the local command, looking with pity on a carefully groomed beard outline of the nose. I once liked autumn. He liked even the smell of rain. It had to be even when they believed that fond of this city. It's been "in the meantime" and ceased to pay attention to autumn, rain and a few other things. Life, however, did not happen by this or a little less complicated *. Sliding deeper passes in the buttonhole skajowej naval port was passing a tavern. No different from any other, with the rest of all were the same. Filled to the brim with random sailors cinkciarzami, petty smugglers, sitting at crowded tables and the girls at the bar waiting for someone else's beck and call the accompaniment of screeching rozkalibrowanego big beat flowing from the scene. He felt the biting heat of the mouth, so he dropped the tip of the Captain and the sole wtarł cigarette in asphalt, approaching Zubrzycki bloody lieutenant, sitting at the open door of police in Warsaw at the time the next przydeptywał Carmen. Looking at the pace of his breath zamieniającego a few, he knew he still optępiały lay in shock. passed midnight. Dozens of miles away, zachrobotał starter. most famous urban legend once again roused from sleep.
* Classic case of the paradox of the ass, written on his knee ... and "is just one of my flaws."
_________________ I was here!
Tkachuk.
0 comments:
Post a Comment