How To Sit In A Skirt

diecisettembre / dieciottobre

Thirty days, and still
:

did not go to any party erasmus, (the possibility that this could change, are minimal for now);

I did not eat sprouts Brussels;

I have not even seen, CODEST sprouts, even to the market, not

I managed to conquer the cartoon museum;

least of the Magritte Museum;

I have not visited the ugly Manneken Pis, all'impudente zinneken Pis, the Atomium cursed, translucent European Parliament;

nothing moules;

nothing oblique flirt northern Europe, for now;

I have not had a fight to death

though:

I found a favorite place to eat les frites;

I left, I walked, I carried out acts of various kinds, all without having the divine plan and free myself lost;

but I lost a couple of times, even though I had the map with me

I developed an addiction to the smell of the subway and the subway itself,

I cried, for nostalgia, but only once. And the infinite sadness of the song that I listened to, excuse me;

I was sexually harassed, twice;

I celebrated the first of the sacred rites of passage in the migrant's life: give guidance to people lost;

I found the street where prostitutes stationed in the window right behind my house, but I will not tell his mother;

I found the raspberry beer;

have slipped spreading my knees on the sidewalk, you earn points and two thousand one hundred points crust shame

I discovered that Brussels is romantic, like a young governess who dresses in black, hiding the poems in the drawer of linen valuable.

raining, again.