¿Qué mitin ni que timo? ¡Motín! Timón, monín.
July defined her friend as being warm. And as soon as she heard that word coming out of her own mouth, she realized, she wouldn't describe herself as warm. That was a word she just wouldn't use for herself. So she sat there, wondering how come she didn't get to give herself any nice things, and instead she kept wasting them on others.
Monde imaginaire, je suis au paradis, au sphère supérieure du paradis. Mon paradis terrestre, le paradis fiscaux.
She felt she should warn him, so she did. But she didn't really want to, so she said it in such a low voice he couldn't hear her.
- Mer... credi! - s'écria-t-elle. Et elle voulait dire jeudi.
C'était un mardi comme les autres. Comme tant d'autres. En fait, c'était un mardi comme tous les autres.
lunes, enero 25, 2010
278. Haïr le mensonge, c'est pas aimer la vérité
Publicado por
Alba
|
Etiquetas:
monday
Les enfants qui mentent ne vont pas au paradis.
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