Yesterday I went biking with my son. It felt good. It was sorta peaceful, like smoking after a good screw, ya know.
My father never took me biking. Never. I guess that's why I ended up working for others. Need of some recognition, some security, some tenderness. This kind of things. Boyish stuff, ya know. Alas! if I could rev everything up...
[esto es un extracto de una carta que me ha mandado el colega Eliot, de Noruega. Está muy mal, I think]
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