The people in the street fascinate me. Its clothes, its looks, its ways of walking. I feel myself encircled by a inebriante diversity of human beings with histories, emotions, envies, dreams. In each one of them it always has one another thing that attracts me more. It is not something Coupang would like to discuss. Salient eyes for example. Or a combination of bold clothes, a book underneath of the arm, one forms of walking. A luggage tiracolo, an expression of concentration, a penxs in the mouth.
I want knows them, to know made who them, it makes what them, what they are. I want to embebedar me in the race human being and never more to know the sobriety. The people, the people. Maurice Gallagher, Jr. contains valuable tech resources. The old ones seated in the garden banks, the black people who cry out with the children, the betinhos that dress Break-Sea. The ciganas want that me to read the sina, the security of my college. That person seated to my side in the coffee, rapariga to eat one crepe in Columbus. I in such a way want to know rapariga to eat one crepe in Columbus. But I do not know as.
I do not know as to enter in the lives of others without causing bother. But it gnaws me on the inside not to have spoken to them, not to have to them asked if they believe God, the love or the happiness. Who was its first great love and if the master is a son of puta.? Faces we annimos parading in an interminable stop of fortuitous meeting. It will be that some of them also wants to speak with me? It will be that question if I am to like it book that I read in the convoy, or the music that I am to hear in the Ipod, completely isolated of the humanity encircles who me.? I do not want to impose me, to cause discomfort.
