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Joey played at being the inventor. I train tracks that fit the exchange undecided, too. imagined fucking friends as well, made of cigarettes, bitter coffee, and read poems floor. Plan to give meaning to the words one at a time. the melancholy that clung to his back with tape wrapping cartadazucchero color. color the sky blue eyes in his hands while fighting the two heavy sound like in the movies where the culprit is always maggiordomo.come. business as usual.

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Joey was surely not a superoe comics and all illusions that it was. the savior of good fame was not for her. maybe it was between the bad guys, her. and maybe if he deserved it as well. that his world a little 'dark blue colarsi seemed like the candles of the churches. yes, those of the saints. she missed angles and Paris with his hands clasped them carry with them. dovunque.comunque. ideas had never stopped rolling? the rain in and out of the warm sun of late August that penetrated the curtains too hot. dragons flying too far. and had beautiful eyes too. looked even more in the eye. walked along the white line dividing the street rocked by the wind of trucks and vehicles. too fast to notice her. too slow to bring it with them.

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rain in August mingled with coffee in the cup of Joe. old wheat fields behind the station had been replaced by corn fields behind the cemetery. new wounds that were not enough patches used, nor were they married them. Joey felt the hand of Mr. V. Between his. but it was cold. His hand was warm and the only heat he adored the little Joey.l 'smell of tobacco and caffeine on their hands who wore on his face like a mask. photographic negatives and fish eyes and the black and white like old movies. perhaps that was the hand away from her, Joey. trembled at the idea. trembling. maybe it was not that time. no, it was not.

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"no star that falls on him" Joey jot with a rounded and shaky writing in his notebook. notes of the movement of the dark sky on his taccuino.chissàcome sky over Berlin was in there if someone had escaped.
that his name is Joey felt doomed to be happy. a British mispronunciation of the word joy, its special curse. which then could not even believe exist, there were those who wondered what that noise was and no one ever knew how to respond. Daddy, daddy, you bastard, I'm through. screaming not to be forgotten Joey, I screamed with all the air that still could not breathe and had little, too little for his lungs. perhaps even his neighbors could hear. not felt the most. insomniac. that everything was dying. she, too, a bit '.