Sunday, March 12, 2006

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was writing my assignments for some students from Barnard College in New York (for stuff and I love this race) which had the theme the film, and I started to remember my aunt sitting on the couch in my house grandparents, offering unbranded onions and potatoes, which were like pringles now without powder dyes, flavors and aspartame. I sat at his feet and saw day film, it always came from Salamanca recorded when at parties or at the end of exams.

As I got older she got the card and took me with her to wash the bolly, the old renault he had inherited from my great-aunt. The name came from the state of the body: He had a pair of asymmetrical white doors full of personality. In the wash tunnel commented recent movies we had seen, and I remember once I took the public pool in the Palomera and lying on the grass I put one of his walkman headphones. We spent the rest of the afternoon sunbathing and listening to the dialogue of Pulp Fiction.

This fueled my passion for movies, listen to the cinema programs be the early hours of Saturday, to spend the night on the first Sunday of March without sleep because they were the oscars and it was fun to go to school with dark circles to toe.

I started to think and remember and wandering, are the same thing, and enjoy how our minds over time we prepared this warm shelters. Rescuing details that we ignore them, as unexpected as it shows us a delicious lemon sponge cake. Just as winning photographs ever worn a silent but eloquent voice, we know what happens to the wine. I never get tired of defending the smell of the books pages beige, second-hand bookshops as Collegiate, near San Isidoro. And curiously, when he spends so much time and nothing remains, for better and for worse, something that moves me particularly. Do not know if have something to do with I have always preferred the wine vinegar.

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