I returned to the land of the rising Big Mac about a month ago, back in the distant early and late September. It was strange, a kind of deformation of the concept of cognitive dissonance, when instead of meeting with snow I found heat and sun, and flowers. When one is uncertain whether walking paths are right, nothing helps as much as to see flowers on the side of the street that passes.
That is, similarly, is not entirely appropriate to a road refererise as correctnas people I am distant and menacing, in others only reflects a buffoon, a temporary entertainment that only knows how to create smiles. Nothing is so terribly menacing as the eyes of those people where I just did not reflect simply do not see me. And yet, it's an addiction turned into a duality: I do not want to see, I do not want to see. The minds of people who are not me I find a mystery, a heart attack in my understanding of things. What omnipotence would be who could read the hearts as you know an adult reading the newspaper, what would be the unbearable weight of his empathy. Anyway, enough with these assertions. B
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