While the route passes over the side, the child C look at the pictures of the Andes, Buenos Aires immense night of a sunset with storm while descending in Ezeiza, remembers the kind of travel that Van lost at the airport one hour forty-five minutes, then do not feed the manual toll near Campana, puteaba like crazy, as he tried to put the belt F was asleep. Then close the notebook and look at the pens. This is not James, and Valpo. Not in the 612 to Sebastiana looked like a roller coaster, but Chile, between the houses. The voice of the guy who said: Sometimes, the groups end up living in houses, not hear more. Went out. But no pictures. A huge banner, a beacon to advertisements on outdoor screens, high, a library without material, lift the edge of a bay, pelicans and gulls paralyzed by a flash. The entrance by Orono in the night. The open suitcases on the floor of his house. The brothel's back. And the morning. Uploaded to the car and on the road again and now, far away in a gloom, showing the two buildings, but this is not Rosario's Lions and not see how it goes through just like space, geography. A Lucio Mansilla led the tour to gather volumes, journals and newspapers publish their dreams on the Pampa, explain that it was a journey. We dream and we were somewhere else. Neither account gave us the alteration of the landscape. And over there were no Indians with which to learn a little more civilization.
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