You remember them, the first? Were via Massarenti, from the kitchen see the shows live across the nudist but overall, the room we gave back the screams of fellow addicts who vomited neon.
For a short time, there was one of our large room in Koln, where we felt the train Boche persuasive ads (and under the bed that was Katch split as soon as we sat down).
In via Mazzini, the door was the beloved of the horrid red cockroaches alien with antennas. Or peeping tom support for nights when my male spiavate fairly erratic. But my favorite, you know, was in the kitchen, where we saw the building beautiful that remained uninhabited for years, and those walls are perfect for projecting, at night, the giant shadows.
And now that I do not know what's outside your window, now that you can see from my austere church, now that we have no idea how many times we will collect light and excerpts from distant cities, before sitting down to a window and think, "I'm home" and now I wish the two of us only one thing: they can look out our windows on the world as close as possible to what you want.
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