Today I decide to bring somthing a little bit different, something melancholic and melodramatic, something that only a novelist could do.
-The GAS man has just arrived
-And I'm asking myself/wondering, why it isn't the GAS woman?
Anyway... In the attempt to show a little bit of me to the readers of this blog and those ones that casually stumbled here, I'm going to continue with this desinspired text, maybe because I'm not writing in my native language, witch I'm not specialist, it's even harder for me to write in english.
All this words with no content, to kept a little bit of the spirit of Charles Bukowski, not that his words has no cotent, but because they represent an apathy, melancholic feeling as my mood as been lately.
Confusing words? I promisse that the next update will be more pleasant (but not so pleasant as the GAS woman).
Henry Charles Bukowski
70 Minutes in Hell
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