The stories of the people are like the sea.
Like the sea arrive and do not know where.
hear them away from air travel, orchestral overtures for frak and directors in the hands of Bermuda with calluses and tired feet.
Mario threw the belt in night shifts only for her, a loner and a promise to the altar.
Sara saw her man away faster than thought , one of those light and innocent as the child grow on its own.
Gianfranco was pierced in the chest, but is standing. It was a heart attack.
Julia believes in life and in that smile gave her joy.
Stories like these are born with an alarm clock in the morning and accompany you until the evening.
Billions of actors, directors and writers ...
Stories, subatomic particles nerve of life, like confetti of a child dressed as Zorro with a battle in single combat, even against the pirate black, for her, the princess from the golden locks and the unit the teeth.
stories, beautiful to hear, beautiful to live and to tell, maybe a little of six years.
"Mom, tell me that story tonight?"
"The best story in the world, that of a child born six years ago ..."
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