And right here, wedged between the wall and this
wall, in an area of \u200b\u200bnot more than two feet, it was
the "Turkish" which carry their own needs.
Turkish, oh my. In reality it was just a hole in the floor
of about 30 cm in diameter surrounded by a corolla of
tiles and slopes towards the center and, at least according to the smell that
flowed directly connected with the latrines hell.
In it I had a retching, although most of vision
believe it had been a strong smell emanating. In his telling
dirt and screamed the story of all the prisoners and go from there, even if among
grimace of disgust, I felt attracted. Drawn as if the inside
there was contained the essence, the inner self, intimate,
of people who were squatting on. Or maybe it was just my feeling
now "dead" which attracted me towards what I consider my future
destination:
spend the rest of my life in prison, the sewer of society.
only lasted a moment, but it was a long while since a life where my
meaning began to distinguish the smell and I could detect the scent of spices
vicinoMarocco, the acrid smell of dried blood,
anger, life, death, the waiting, the agony, the grief, suffering, the
pain, despair, the salt of all the tears.
quell'anticamera In the afterlife I knew to be really dead, and
test was just in my ability, or unnatural, to warn
smells. That black hole was throbbing life of its own: it was the
matrix of the earth, was my image. died ... and I let her go
softly, and welcomed me into the black hole on the belly warm.
wall, in an area of \u200b\u200bnot more than two feet, it was
the "Turkish" which carry their own needs.
Turkish, oh my. In reality it was just a hole in the floor
of about 30 cm in diameter surrounded by a corolla of
tiles and slopes towards the center and, at least according to the smell that
flowed directly connected with the latrines hell.
In it I had a retching, although most of vision
believe it had been a strong smell emanating. In his telling
dirt and screamed the story of all the prisoners and go from there, even if among
grimace of disgust, I felt attracted. Drawn as if the inside
there was contained the essence, the inner self, intimate,
of people who were squatting on. Or maybe it was just my feeling
now "dead" which attracted me towards what I consider my future
destination:
spend the rest of my life in prison, the sewer of society.
only lasted a moment, but it was a long while since a life where my
meaning began to distinguish the smell and I could detect the scent of spices
vicinoMarocco, the acrid smell of dried blood,
anger, life, death, the waiting, the agony, the grief, suffering, the
pain, despair, the salt of all the tears.
quell'anticamera In the afterlife I knew to be really dead, and
test was just in my ability, or unnatural, to warn
smells. That black hole was throbbing life of its own: it was the
matrix of the earth, was my image. died ... and I let her go
softly, and welcomed me into the black hole on the belly warm.
