Stressful bums and tums making the desire of the eternal bachelor come to the best place possible. Wheels of lights drumming and bossing on the free tone of the XXI thing after Jesus Christ (it’s so easy not to). Cigarette? My sister will ask me to watch my language. I’m looking at it (or her in Portuguese because language has gender, as everything else). False gargoyle chases the notes and the books I never did. Handy - teaches me sculpture. Mindy isn’t it? Tarzan comes around and dreams about his girl. Isn’t it surprising how people dream about each other? Ai ai ai … I’m lost in Mercy. Run to Holland because they have the stuff that can help you. No they don’t they give you a permanent chill but that doesn’t help. You quit the world of countries and ask your white blood cells if you have any serious infection. They say the problem is in your Neurons. But they can’t find the one responsible. We need to make it easier for you. We only need to know if Broca knew where the area of responsibility is… No but… au. Ond eé que pára o Roberto? Fogo que isto está mau. That’s the way it goes inside me. Just is justo. No more randomness going around. No more chance. No more accidents. The end of pleasure. The autumn leaves with Coltrane and triumph.