Kashmir

She’s gone letting me to see her backs – and her pretty butt – leaving through the door now broken, I stayed sit at the living room and without shirt like in the past, with a practically empty bottle of old whiskey, my head still hurt and the guitar consoled my loneness. I played some songs of when I was young, of when dating on the street made me have an erection and sex was my acme – the house was empty now.

The Unforgiven II

How to narrate a story and make a person believe in your shits? That was the question I was asking myself when Camille received me in a beautiful blue dress packing her stuff in a dawn of Sunday.  “I saw you with that girl!”