Lola Beltran is one of the favorite singers, if not the most, from my mom. Listen, I've missed you to tears to my mother, his care, his kisses, his caresses. Lola's voice reminds me of the face that they put my mom when she sings, for example, "Paloma negra". And then I wonder if it's worth being away from her, my nephew, if not too high price to pay for the adventure. And I say this while I take a glass of wine to the mouth in the department of Silver and Jonah, a couple of good friends I met here. Silver says yes, it's worth, and Jonah says something. In the end, watching them, I realize that life goes on and that I, as I continue enjoying it. There, in front of them, against a Jonah who sings and I am tired to mourn and no rises as with all the sensuality that can be lifted her skirt a little to discover the hairy legs, compared to scratching with Silver her long red nails some cheese that was stuck inside an empty pizza box, compared with a few drinks and broken wine bottles, I say, is good, this is necessarily good. And I take one more drink of wine, I let the league hair, I slipped off your shoes and lie on the couch. It's good, I say, all this is good, and I fall asleep.
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