Vyavanse Street Price

Chinese shadow

He is an artist of the shadow play. He likes to set the stage, light candles and place them in the place that best suits your art. I love to sit in my chair against the wall and let myself fascinated by the talk that his hands invent. Dance is silent. He speaks not only creates figures. And I have to guess what it is.

"This is the heroic gladiator beats ice with his sword trained to kill the lion.

He growls at how quickly my answer, no one likes to be guessed, even so, I always choose as a partner because he knows I'm going to guess. He loves the sensations. His hands returned to dance in front of the fire flickering candles, the darkness is ideal.

risked.

"This is the lion that was injured by the gladiator in the shadows above. Now moans because it hurts his wound and his majesty defeated.

He frowns because not bear to lose two of two. With anger blows out the candles so that I do not see your pride and pleasure in the midst of absolute darkness challenges me:

- Now do you see?

I stared at the wall invaded the blackness of the non-light and no doubt.

"This is you.

Inventing the curious theories about mixed feelings back to light the candles (means you need some light if you want to hide) and without looking be looking for people that instead of heroic gladiators and lions look injured rabbits or doves or butterflies, and when the fire goes out of his sails in a sign of vulnerability honestísima, rather than see him see nothing.

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Men are from Mars

was not appendicitis.

"Congratulations, a ... eh ... "Man? "Said the doctor as he held more professional than the bicharrajo viscous tenderness he had taken from my body.

The arena whined, belching and calling me Mom . I looked and remembered: a few months ago he had met a man. I think it was a man, was green and invited me to spend a night in their spaceship. Very comfortable, the ship. And the "man? making intelligent comments, was funny and was good. The color did not matter, I was never racist. Then I got off the ship (I had a fluffy pouf was re divinura), I went home, and I guess he went back to Mars. I think it was from Mars, that of "men are from Mars, Women Are from Venus." Can not, was able to saturnine, lunatic or Neptune. Stranger safety.

The issue is that my son has no father, and the green man of my life I know you have a child. I tell him that looks just like him: green and long limbs. I took it slimy, sticky me. And I want to claim the alimony, our offspring eat two dozen pies and a gallon of gasoline only at breakfast. Does anyone know when is the next flight to Mars? Oh, no flights to Mars? How can it be? A separate family more because of the bureaucracy. This country can not live. No, not in this country in this world can not live. No wonder he did not return. If this world is a mess: Obama is Nobel Peace Prize and there are no flights to Mars.

I'ma grab the telescope and see if I see him.

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old walnut wood

And victory will grow slowly, as they have always grown victories (Mario Benedetti).

Not that death is a victory, not about that. I can not see death as a victory. Not that I cry like the cry the people, I was never a fan of Mercedes Sosa, but that's not what matters. I do not mind no matter its people, at least not in this timely text.

Victory is the time. Is the water that ran under the bridge, is the rain that drenched everything from at Sabina sings, that rain today. The victory is his strength, consistency in his speech as always, the sense of freedom leaving and left. Sing what you can not sing is a clear example of freedom. Ovarian well positioned and freedom. Being exiled, be expelled, be threatened, to sing what can not sing it, it sounds strange, another clear example of freedom. I imagine she must have the option to withdraw, to sing songs harmless, to be photographed smiling next to the tyrants in power, to get into the shell of non-questioning, never say I do not agree, have had all these options I imagine, and not used. What I used was their right, their reckless right, singing things like give thanks to misfortune and hand with dagger because it killed me so bad and I kept singing, for example. And they used when the rights were a distant dream, a cause for pain, when words were, more than ever, double-edged swords, kill you (unfair and definitely not as bad as the knife hand with the song ) or you exiled. And the exile, and guess who was exiled (humans, not the words) also thought it was final, the victory was theirs, that time could not bring defeat. Because time is victory, but it was not for them.

They now must be as old like her, so physically weak as her, so close to death (which is not victory, and safe start to understand it) as it was it must consider the charge of the world and should not understand. Or better yet (my optimism and my naivete are tough), they do understand. Should see the tears of all, the cry of all, tear all the homage and praise of all. Should note that more than a remote and alien places his death, she died as a cover story, and should listen to the people (artists, anonymous, presidents in democracy) mourn his death, and that seems sincere regret. And also see that many use her death, her death as something from which it hung. And that (Do not know if they will get) is also the victory. Because it was taboo, and now is pride.

And she is dead but victorious. And they are alive but old, weak and dying, perhaps begin to understand.

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- What do you like most about God? - Asked Patrick.

- San Roque. Because the statue is a dog, and I like dogs - he answered, without hesitation, Macarena. They were sitting on the bench churchyard, waiting to be made when the catechism class, it was a rainy and cold, and maybe that's why those two were the only students who had come to the parish, his parents insisted that a catechism , and the school is not necessary, except for emergencies, and the bad weather was not an emergency.

- I like David, because he killed a piedrazo Goliath. Because Goliath was bad. Macarena

thought about it and he was right.

- Today we played with the Father Ariel, right? - Asked Patrick.

- Yes, for luck. I like more Father Father Facundo Ariel. Do you? Macarena

slow to respond, when he finally did, he lowered his voice.

- I told my sister, the largest, that the Father Ariel has a girlfriend. And the bride is pregnant. And my sister knows this because the bride's father is her friend Ariel. Do not tell anyone because it is a sin that the Father Ariel has a girlfriend. I do not tell anyone because I too prefer the Father the Father Facundo Ariel, even a sinner. Patricio

swore that I was not going to tell anyone except the Father Facundo.

- I like more Ariel father - Patrick continued after a pause - because he greets me normal. Father Facundo hugs me a lot and I played a lot, and I do not like. And I told Martin that he touched the tail, once they were alone. Macarena

listened in silence, although he was only nine years, like Patrick and Martin felt that nothing that would mourn Patricio could be good, and Patrick was crying there, at that time, as he spoke of the Father Facundo.

- Luckily today we Ariel Father - tried to console him. Patricio nodded and wiped away tears.

The sacristy door opened and came Father Facundo.

- Adelante, guys - invited, smiling white. Macarena and Patricio glances.

- What Father Ariel? - Asked babe.

- Had inconvenient personal and called Bishop. So today replaced him me. We seem solos, you they alone came - commented, looking around - Spend?

Patricio not answer and slipped in room, preceding Father Facundo. Macarena ducked, grabbed a stone soil slipped it pocket and followed closing behind him door sacristy while thunder broke heaven.