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As túas balas » Blog Archive

moroso
Como estes días levo arrastrando unha alta presión melancólica, a pouco que quedo a traballar á noite cos compañeiros acabo algo peneque de rioxas e güisques e andándolle no rastro ás camas alleas. Así vou dar nun piso que lle esquenceu ao demo, vendo discos de OBK e fotografías aéreas dun concello da montaña. El é guapo, mouro e rideiro. Eu, torpe, zoupón e borracho. Quédomelle a durmir sobre o peito sen poder pagarlle a zugadas o cariño que me desprendera.
Á mañá despídome rápido pra cruzar a cidade e prométolle que haberá mellores días. Pero se eu fose el non o crería.


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