In my absence, I am reminded of the fragility of memory memories thought lost, but just were asleep in a corner. Sometimes wake up smell, others light ... My hand is subjected to a relative and drags me to the cafes of my childhood wrapped in toasted aroma and customers with a hat pulled down over his eyebrows and mustache scalpel. With stripped of any theatrical ceremony, got rid of its ornamentation and hid his eyes behind a newspaper.
An anise and pure. A coffee and a glass of water despendÃa all the time ... I remember the mist of a snuff smoking customs of those landscapes blurring any coffee in the provinces.
marble tables, wooden chairs, and waiters doing stunts with a tray. Immaculate jackets and pants label. Hair slicked back from where he escaped his psychology to discuss Sunday's game. His hawking front of lovers not to interrupt the compliment of a kiss ...
And so, after the smoked glass of memories all you drink served in a caramelized cava. Scenes that seem to us sometimes in the past was any better.
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