The pretty little lizard got on his feet and started to walk away from the desert. All work and no play, the sand burning in his tiny toes, the blue horizon far far away, our thoughts to him in this very harsh moment. Namaste.
Our neighbour is sleeping, Frank. Yes, dear, what do you suggest? I think we may go and try to look if he's better. Yes, and he might be alive as well.
He didn't trust any of you, he was a very lonely man who thought that all of you were just liars. He felt like a victim, and so he killed himself in the hope of some freedom. Don't judge him so badly, for he did work well for you for so many years. Yes, he was a good horse. And he carried my luggage as nobody else did.
I can't believe that this is the end, dear. So many fucking dollars just wasted away and these idiots still can't complete the fucking house. If they had finished the bathroom at least.
All the pretty asses in the magazine got paid.
The little lizard moves to the town in search for beer and stimulants for his central nervous system. Yes, the messages don't match but the little lizard doesn't really care. All he knows is that the thirst needs to be gone and the desert won't be of any help. I believe that this is just a strange kind of self respect.
Not worthy of a fucking phone. Just don't take a plane. I don't care.
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(Hey!!! pasaba a dejarte un abrazote gigante!!!!)
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