blondes We filled the city.
Even late at night still could see them swarming through the streets of Boulevard.
Neither the cops, nothing. Just them, waving a flag of shit, and on his forehead the plastic headband with the magic name change.
no longer be heard honking, or delusional Caravan vehicles for La Moneda, the celebration was over: the poor fox to the portal, the rich bitch to the rosebush.
They , blonde from blonde waiting for the micro, a light seemed far closer to the wide Alameda, as a tiny mandala.
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