like the time you ordered a coffee bar right in that the wooden floor that was a few blocks from here. I sometimes wonder if they sell more cigarettes in that place, after all these years. I remember that was the first time I smoked. secretly, of course, all eyes of the world except your own. were lucky strike red. strong, as strong as a punch in the teeth. especially for me who was the first time I smoked. and I remember the first booze, the first few times of all things and that smell incontentenibile of adolescence and life that we smeared the skin. I admit it yet, you know. despite the weather, life and work and things go wrong. and sometimes I wonder where you went, where you live now and what happened to your hair blond, green eyes, your arrogant that defied the world and those sweet hands still touch my heart. where have you hidden your adolescence. and very strong smell that you almost sewn on. sometimes I feel it in the air, you know. and every time, without fail, I light up a Lucky Strike red smoke that for you. and wherever I am, I return lì. a quel bar dai pavimenti in legno al tuo caffè corretto ai tuoi occhi verdi spavaldi ai tuoi capelli biondissimi alle prime sbornie e alle prime volte di tutte le cose.
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