a
ago days, heard in a downtown restaurant in Madrid to a radio journalist, well known, "say, not unreasonably, that this country does not fall nor a fool again, that doing so is overwhelming and we're all going to hell. The next day or so, I read an article from one of my favorite writers, in which he stated the same thing. And if I may, I will support, but also I will add something of my own, and also, I will show with the reported down, and that in this country do not catch more stupid, but not caught more sons of bitches.
morning, almost overnight, still-threatened rain, the leaden sky gave no hope. The train was late, normal service in the vicinity of the Renfe, more so during the weekends. I was in the city's central station in question. Eight-way with four way stations between them, two by two. Though we were in the early hours of the morning on a holiday, the platforms had numerous people in them, some hoping to reach their homes after a long night of work, others looked the same after a night of partying, and others, like the undersigned, "seeking to get to work early morning as soon as possible. Well, how cold it was at the station seemed enhanced by the cold air stream, you chilled to the bone. Nevertheless, he remained undaunted, sitting in one of the iron banks halt, with my perennial book in hand. One who spoke about the war in Afghanistan, Kabul was entitled Papers of journalist Ramón Lobo.
suddenly on the scene was an older lady, with wooden stick and three-quarter coat. I had just entered the halt in front of the escalator, moving rhythmically, slowly and lightly on your hip caneándose. Sober and wearing dark colors, but with a touch of relief in black, topped by his curly white hair. Meanwhile, the station was oblivious to his own, his madness daily comings and goings in nobody notices that no one, not damn the urge that makes them. A city, of those, who are more feelings radio taxis with more hearts bar codes, and where it is easier to catch a Legionella fall in love. One such site, choked by concrete and asphalt, which knowing me, and something I know, "faileth cisco tarte and I will sooner or exits through the forum.
The case is that the lady caught my eye in the crowd, perhaps because it did not hit in the midst of the scrum, between the madness of young hangovers, among workers seeking to reach their place of work despite being so weekends, or between people who rise early to lead idle completed at the earliest purchases of nearby dining religious festivals. Or maybe because the way they act and dress, seemed from another era, or people who spent most of his life in a village on the plateau.
Suddenly, my eye also noticed two other characters who shared walk with the lady, two security guards, of which we can find at any station or public building. With his brown suit and yellow piping a reflective vest with the name of the company that pays them back. One of them, right slung from his belt a pistol, model STAR PK 28, accompanied by a cartridge belt full of golden bullets of 9 mm parabelum. The other, unarmed, wearing a dark club, cylindrical shackles and subject to the back of your waist, just where the back loses its name.
The close was its entry into the station, while the lady was wearing his silhouette slowly up to the two security guards, it appeared that the woman would say something to the two types. When the noise made by the metal train wheels on the rails, stood up, I start to get an idea of \u200b\u200bwhat was going one way and walk past where I was. The situation was very simple, the lady, cumbersome, as I said, crestfallen asked the security guards if they could help you board the train, but two of them, denied in unison, shaking their heads surly, saying it was not his job, his job is to monitor only and nothing else. She insisted, would only be a moment that was not going to cost anything, and that it was going to miss the train. But they continued to deny the major, taking refuge in the excuse, that help people get on the train was not in their obligations and that if they did would be that they wanted, but hey, they did not want, and if you wanted someone to help you go talk to the stationmaster.
The train began to whistle, announcing that in the next few seconds, the doors would be closed and the train would his way. The lady and almost desperate, he was about to, I suppose, to send two individuals to take where pots are broken, when a young boy, I suppose, seeing the same situation as me, but from a place nearest abandonment place on and off the train helped the lady to get on the train, to look harmless and empty of the two bastards in suits security guard, who were laughing and frolicking as pigs in mud, everyone laughs and frolics what it is.
ago days, heard in a downtown restaurant in Madrid to a radio journalist, well known, "say, not unreasonably, that this country does not fall nor a fool again, that doing so is overwhelming and we're all going to hell. The next day or so, I read an article from one of my favorite writers, in which he stated the same thing. And if I may, I will support, but also I will add something of my own, and also, I will show with the reported down, and that in this country do not catch more stupid, but not caught more sons of bitches.
morning, almost overnight, still-threatened rain, the leaden sky gave no hope. The train was late, normal service in the vicinity of the Renfe, more so during the weekends. I was in the city's central station in question. Eight-way with four way stations between them, two by two. Though we were in the early hours of the morning on a holiday, the platforms had numerous people in them, some hoping to reach their homes after a long night of work, others looked the same after a night of partying, and others, like the undersigned, "seeking to get to work early morning as soon as possible. Well, how cold it was at the station seemed enhanced by the cold air stream, you chilled to the bone. Nevertheless, he remained undaunted, sitting in one of the iron banks halt, with my perennial book in hand. One who spoke about the war in Afghanistan, Kabul was entitled Papers of journalist Ramón Lobo.
suddenly on the scene was an older lady, with wooden stick and three-quarter coat. I had just entered the halt in front of the escalator, moving rhythmically, slowly and lightly on your hip caneándose. Sober and wearing dark colors, but with a touch of relief in black, topped by his curly white hair. Meanwhile, the station was oblivious to his own, his madness daily comings and goings in nobody notices that no one, not damn the urge that makes them. A city, of those, who are more feelings radio taxis with more hearts bar codes, and where it is easier to catch a Legionella fall in love. One such site, choked by concrete and asphalt, which knowing me, and something I know, "faileth cisco tarte and I will sooner or exits through the forum.
The case is that the lady caught my eye in the crowd, perhaps because it did not hit in the midst of the scrum, between the madness of young hangovers, among workers seeking to reach their place of work despite being so weekends, or between people who rise early to lead idle completed at the earliest purchases of nearby dining religious festivals. Or maybe because the way they act and dress, seemed from another era, or people who spent most of his life in a village on the plateau.
Suddenly, my eye also noticed two other characters who shared walk with the lady, two security guards, of which we can find at any station or public building. With his brown suit and yellow piping a reflective vest with the name of the company that pays them back. One of them, right slung from his belt a pistol, model STAR PK 28, accompanied by a cartridge belt full of golden bullets of 9 mm parabelum. The other, unarmed, wearing a dark club, cylindrical shackles and subject to the back of your waist, just where the back loses its name.
The close was its entry into the station, while the lady was wearing his silhouette slowly up to the two security guards, it appeared that the woman would say something to the two types. When the noise made by the metal train wheels on the rails, stood up, I start to get an idea of \u200b\u200bwhat was going one way and walk past where I was. The situation was very simple, the lady, cumbersome, as I said, crestfallen asked the security guards if they could help you board the train, but two of them, denied in unison, shaking their heads surly, saying it was not his job, his job is to monitor only and nothing else. She insisted, would only be a moment that was not going to cost anything, and that it was going to miss the train. But they continued to deny the major, taking refuge in the excuse, that help people get on the train was not in their obligations and that if they did would be that they wanted, but hey, they did not want, and if you wanted someone to help you go talk to the stationmaster.
The train began to whistle, announcing that in the next few seconds, the doors would be closed and the train would his way. The lady and almost desperate, he was about to, I suppose, to send two individuals to take where pots are broken, when a young boy, I suppose, seeing the same situation as me, but from a place nearest abandonment place on and off the train helped the lady to get on the train, to look harmless and empty of the two bastards in suits security guard, who were laughing and frolicking as pigs in mud, everyone laughs and frolics what it is.
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