The Spy

I was walking on the curb holding a bottle of a 17-year-old whiskey without the shoes, my tight jeans and loose shirt, the wet hair that dripped on my face I was trying to put it behind with a shaking of the head, for some instants I tried to count the leaves of the trees but always lost it while I walked.

Sometimes I see that smile of before in other women, but the wet mouth isn't the same, I've always been a naughty man, perhaps without consideration for the girls, I made some women suffer and got the retribution of others.

The long and straight hair and the prancing nose, her voice sometimes I can remember – it's been so long – how many hours did we spend together?

Who knows one day we meet each other again, maybe I'm in a bar or even drunk at home and dropped on the couch, you thinking of me, sometimes my empty bottle of whiskey reveals my feelings and my madnesses, now a lot of people know me and know what I did, I just hope you don't forget me.

I know your secrets... I know your biggest fears... Where did my shoes go?