A weekend can be like a game of duck, jumping between bars and the lounge of a rented flat. It can also be like a game of Parcheesi, waiting at home to have a good reason to go out to eat at night and tell you twenty if you have to run into the occasional wall.
And we all like to play. When we were kids was to play live, now we play to have money, believe us the owner of a hotel. But we are no longer children and we realize that we are not able to catch a taxi to save and study only how to be a receptionist in French.
And looking back to that world so different and so far from normal childhood is that you leave, all we ever left. But lie is not wrong about everything to realize that we are all suspiciously weak, that all tread on the same soil, we are not stone.
In a weekend perhaps give us time to find that time passes, sometimes fast during sleep, sometimes slow at a cafe, but especially to grow helped by those around us who are our yeast.
All of us faster than the return leg. That costs much more back, because the back is never planned and arises rather choppy.
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