Another luggage, a suitcase, a box.
Should I make a lot more crazy.
We wanderers on odd days, always a sigh what is right, a curse that does not add up or does not fit in a pocket skinny. Parto in
absurdity of blaming someone who wants me there in a hurry and those who at all costs would keep me with him.
Another train, another journey and another two more tomorrow and say Ave Maria, which will not hurt.
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