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I left my friends behind. I was hoping to came back with her, it didn't turn out. Juliette was too drunk so she had to drive her friend home. At least we danced cheeck to cheeck until Juliette interrupted us. Juliette is a pain in the ass and is in love. I don't know who she is in love with, me or her and I really don't care. Anyway I am alone now and everybody seems to be in their own world, so I sit here, alone with my issues in the middle of the crow. I get in the bus, later in the metro, then I have to walk. I don't know the neighbourhood. The streets look so different by night. There are narrow streets and huge gardens, close and open spaces like a reflection of my thoughts. The crow have dissapeared suddenly and an inner silence came across. I feel so small in this world, so free in some sense. I know I've been here before. Everywhere is just a place to be for someone. It could be you or me. We are equals, human beens. It is always the same story. Markets begin to open their doors, grocery stores and coffeshops, the sun is rising, it is warmer than it used to be in this period of the year. Children whispering secrets at their dogs age. I recall the memories of Henry Miller and Paul Auster, two of my literary heroes. They were also alone sometime ago, and now their voices have broken the barrier of time. The nights here are short, they last two hours, my coat was robbed at the party. I am ypung, strong and stupid. Everybody seems lucky. I am out. In the streets you can always be yourself, I mean you can just be, it doesn't matter whou you are, your name, yor profession, your nationality, you are a target or a predator, you can be passive or active fellow. It is important to keep on moving, to pretend there is someone waiting for you at home. You know the truth; you always did. So you will sleep. I will. I will call her. I know her, she is my friend. She told me a story last night. We were drinking beer at the Studenthouse, the place we use to gathered in everwednesday. She was norwegian I am Spanish. She told me about a Finnish, I think, who fell in love with a Massai. I thought I was the Massay of our story. I can not imagine she could find me any exotic or attractive, I just love the way she looked at me. Her eyes were like swords that came across my soul. I love to travel through the eyes of a beautiful girl. She was called Lisa, sh He wasn't the prettiest girl around, nor thick or overweight, just a little bit curvy. Her hair was a total mess but fits her well. She was dark brown and her eyes were cristal blue. Her lips were like the sand and her body was warm, when she was with me she didn't care about the others. But when we talked we came through some struggles. Our English seemed to came from different sources, I use to look for some words in the dictionary but the words I was looking for where in her eyes. I have travel a lot after that, been in Morocco, England, Ireland, Germany, Italy, Ceck Republic even Norway but I've never find her again. I can't look for her in Facebook.because I nver asked her her surname and anyway I am sure she got married. Sometimes I think she could have married Juliette, but I guess it is just a fantasy. Sometimes you don't have to get on a bus, a train, a plane or a boat to travel. You can just close yours eyes and face her cristal blue again. That was what I was thinking about when the driver get me off his bus. You are drunk, wasted youth. I say him goodbye, trying to hide my erection with an arm. I didn,t have any coat, some mothefucker stole it from me. Another night gone.