Women Getting Brazilians

And the arrival of memories

I was in the old part of town that is home to my university stores had those particular signs, made of wood just fine

with written corroded by the violence of the time that had fallen upon them

the entrance was also very ancient

a wooden door with a glass in the center that revealed the beauty that senility had given to that place

rained and the climate of that time period the weather was very cold, wearing the wool coat, wool scarf, and of course the glasses, the umbrella gave me an air of elegance May

shoes, featuring an hour of youth were wet at the tip, as opposed to hair that were shamefully wet

went groping, the windows of my glasses , wet also gave me little prospect of local

everything smelled of yellow pages

off with a dedication that is owed to older people and the wise

cashier asked him the book and so unclear pointed to the shelf where it was content

tried it, the shelves are yellowed by dust that prevailed in those books was intoxicating

began to resign, at a point, docile, I looked down and saw him

vehemently shook him, sniffed him and gently took out the dust generated in my body usually allergic pruritus

courses from the white-haired cashier who looks at that scene gently

almost like you're his nephew I approached him

was old, white hair or accents age, wrinkles, elegantly carved out of the time were a sign of his poverty

smile with submission, I admired him ashamed

I paid, and wiping with a grand gesture, glasses

gave me the rest

broken voice greeted me from the monotony, broken voice and I greeted him with happiness

opened that door, I took the ' umbrella, and I found the rain waiting for the rain

erase the lines of the store

and walked away with the fear of those who lost their serenity.
[My Photo]